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Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/theodorewmillerr01  mill 


Theodore  W.  Miller 

ii 

ROUGH  RIDER 

HIS  DIARY  AS  A SOLDIER 
TOGETHER  WITH  THE 
STORY  OF  HIS  LIFE 


AKRON,  OHIO 
PRIVATELY  PRINTED 
1899 


Copyright,  1899, 

BY 

Richard  P.  Marvin 


AKRON,  OHIO 

THE  WERNER  COMPANY 
PRINTERS  AND  BINDERS 


972.  5 

M(oS7  T 


TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF  A CHRISTIAN  GEN- 
TLEMAN AND  GALLANT 
SOLDIER  THIS  LITTLE 
VOLUME  IS  DEDICATED 
BY  ONE  OF  MANY  WHO 
KNEW  AND  LOVED  HIM 


Preface 


viii 


in  chapter  ix.  Other  members  of  the  family 
have  supplied  valuable  suggestions  and  useful 
materials.  It  is  gratifying  to  know  that  Theo- 
dore’s father,  who  died  in  February  last,  ap- 
proved the  general  plan  of  the  book,  and 
seemed  satisfied  with  so  much  of  its  execution 
as  he  saw.  The  account  of  the  period  from  the 
wounding  to  the  death  is  based  upon  a careful 
statement  prepared  by  Mr.  Miller  himself  from 
all  the  available  data.  Indebtedness  to  class- 
mates and  others  for  letters,  anecdotes,  and 
impressions,  is  acknowledged  throughout  the 
chapters. 

It  should  be  definitely  understood  that  while 
this  book  has  been  prepared  at  the  request  of 
Theodore’s  relatives,  they  are  not  responsible 
for  the  picture  of  the  home  life  which  seemed 
indispensable  to  a conception  of  Theodore’s 
character.  On  this  ground  the  editor  has  as- 
serted his  right  to  include  certain  paragraphs. 

The  thanks  of  the  family  and  the  editor  are 
due  to  Charles  Scribner’s  Sons  Co.,  to  Harper 
Bros.  Co.,  to  Mr.  Frank  Munsey,  and  to  Mr. 
Nicholas  Fish  for  the  loan  of  photographs,  and 
for  other  courtesies,  which  have  made  it  pos- 
sible to  include  certain  of  the  illustrations. 

The  gratitude  of  Theodore’s  friends  must  be 
expressed  to  Mr.  Richard  P.  Marvin,  who  has 
not-  only  insisted  upon  assuming  the  burden 
of  publication,  but  has  given  sound  and  whole- 
'some  counsel. 

The  Editor. 

Chicago,  November  1899. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I. 

Boyhood  

. i 

II. 

Youth  . . 

17 

III. 

College  Life  ..... 

• 3i 

IV. 

Law  School  and  Enlistment 

64 

V. 

The  Diary:  New  York  to  Tampa 

• 76 

VI. 

The  Diary:  From  Tampa  to  Baiquiri  . 

103 

VII. 

The  Diary:  From  Baiquiri  to  San  Juan 

. 114 

VIII. 

Battle-field  and  Hospital 

134 

IX. 

From  Cuba  to  Akron  .... 

. 146 

X. 

The  Service 

156 

Appendix.  Addresses,  Letters,  etc.  . 

. 169 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Portrait  of  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

Frontispiece 

Oak  Place.  The  House  .....  i 

Lewis  Miller’s  Birthplace  ....  3 

Portrait  of  Lewis  Miller  .....  4 

Portrait  of  Mrs.  Miller  ....  5 

« The  Little  Boys  » ......  8 

John  and  Theodore  ......  10 

Theodore  and  His  School-mates  . . .12 

Theodore  at  Ten  ......  13 

Miller  Cottage  at  Chautauqua  . . . .15 

The  Sitting  Room,  Oak  Place  10 

The  Library,  Oak  Place  . . . . .24 

Theodore  at  Sixteen  .....  25 

Boys’  Room  at  St.  Paul’s  . . . . .28 

Durfee  Hall,  Yale  Campus  ....  31 

Battell  Chapel,  Yale  Campus  . . . .32 

Yale  Quarters,  Gale’s  Ferry  ....  34 

Theodore  Coaching  a Chautauqua  Crew  . . 36 

Theodore  at  the  Boat  House  ....  39 

Theodore  and  the  Class  Crew  . . . .42 

Theodore  and  John  ......  45 

Theodore’s  Chum  .......  47 

John  V.  Miller  .......  49 

Theodore  and  Frank  Wade  . . . .51 

Theodore  as  a Lady  on  the  Rear  Seat  . . 52 

Camping  on  a Chautauqua  Houseboat  . . 54 

The  Fence,  Yale  Campus  .....  62 

(xi) 


xii  Illustrations 


PAGE 

Glenmont,  Llewellyn  Park  ....  68 

The  Dwight  Law  Club  . . . ...  70 

Colonel  Wood  .......  77 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Roosevelt  . . . .79 

Lieutenant  Goodrich  .....  85 

Caspar  Wi-iitney  .......  90 

Roosevelt  — Davis  — Theodore  ...  93 

Troop  D.  at  Tampa  ......  96 

On  the  « Yucatan  » Leaving  Tampa  . . 103 

Hamilton  Fish,  Jr.  ......  121 

Richard  Harding  Davis  . . . . .131 

Site  of  the  Hospital,  Siboney  ....  138 

Dr.  Lesser  .......  139 

Mrs.  Lesser  . ...  . . . . 140 

The  Grave  at  Siboney  .....  143 

View  from  the  Siboney  Cemetery  . . . 144 
Ensign  John  V.  Miller  .....  146 

View  from  the  Grave  . . . . .148 

The  Headboard  . . . . .150 

Entrance  to  Glendale  . . .158 

The  Miller  Family  Monument  . 168 

The  Memorial  Gateway  (Elm  St.,  Front)  . . 176 

The  Memorial  Gateway  (Campus  Front)  . 177 


CHAPTER  I 


Oak  Place  with  its  hospitable  house  and 
wooded  lawns  is  a hanging  garden  amid  the 
smoke  and  bustle  of  a 
busy,  manufacturing 
town.  One  peeps 
through  the  trees 
from  the  borders 
of  the  grounds, 
and  looks  down 
upon  mill  and 
railway  and  canal. 

To  the  unaccus- 
tomed ear  the  con- 
stant hum  of  industry 
is  the  dominant  under- 
tone, blending  with  the  songs  of  birds  and  the 
rustling  of  the  tree-tops.  Winding  drives  and 
paths  descend  abruptl)T  on  one  side  through 
dense  copses  to  the  city  below;  on  the  other, 
they  stretch  away  over  a broad,  shaded  pla- 
teau to  a distant  entrance.  In  the  rear  of  the 
house  are  stables,  hot-houses,  and  gardens, 
affording  tempting  opportunities  for  boyish 


2 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


experiments  of  many  kinds.  Through  the 
flats  below  the  hill  runs  a brook  which  emp- 
ties into  a larger  stream,  and  suggests  endless 
feats  of  juvenile  engineering.  In  the  city  it- 
self are  factories  an  dr  mills  turning  out  agricul- 
tural machinery,  engines,  rails,  binding  twine, 
pottery,  articles  of  rubber,  in  bewildering 
variety  and  number.  These  great  establish- 
ments with  their  cunningly  devised  machines 
and  skilled  workmen  offer  a fascinating  field 
to  the  growing  boy.  Then,  too,  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  city,  there  are  charming  ex- 
cursions to  ponds,  a river  gorge,  and  an 
w Old  Maid’s  Kitchen.”  Over  the  country  roads 
the  horses  of  Oak  Place  stables  have  cov- 
ered many  a rapid  mile  on  youthful  expedi- 
tions in  search  of  small  game,  or  in  pursuit 
of  other  rural  pleasures. 

Within  the  generous  house  there  is  an  at- 
mosphere of  wide-hearted  hospitality  and  good 
cheer.  The  blazing  Ohio  coal  in  sitting-room 
and  library  dispels  all  sense  of  cold  formality. 
The  appointments  are  handsome,  but  at  a 
glance  they  are  seen  to  be  a means  of  life  and 
not  an  end.  Even  the  stately  drawing-room  is 
not  wholly  forbidden  to  rollicking  brothers  and 
sisters.  On  the  third  floor  is  a glorious  attic,  a 
playroom  unmistakably  designed  for  toy  rail- 
ways, amateur  printing  shops,  a gymnasium, 
winter  circuses,  private  theatricals,  and  all  the 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


3 


other  things  in  which  normal  boys  and  girls 
delight. 

But  all  this  is  only  the  outer  shell  which  a 
family  has  grown  around  its  living  self.  A 
score  of  years  ago,  ten 
children  gathered  with 
their  parents  about  the 
long  table  in  the  Oak 
Place  dining-room. 

The  father,  Lewis 
Miller,  had  already 
gained  a prominent 
position  in  more  than 
one  sphere  of  life.  At 
twenty-five  he  had 
been  an  inventor  of 
mowing  and  reaping 
rapidly  advanced  to  a 


Lewis  Miller’s  Birthplace 

machinery,  and  had 
place  of  responsibility 


and  wealth.  Yet  his  interests  were  not 
wholly  absorbed  by  industrial  pursuits.  He 
was  active  in  church  work,  and  early  dis- 
played a special  ability  to  deal  with  the  prob- 
lems of  Sunday  School  organization  which  at 


that  time  was  sadly  lacking  in  system  and 
method.  He  was  the  designer  of  a Sunday 
School  building  which  has  been  widely  imi- 
tated in  this  country  and  abroad.  His  youth- 
ful experiences  as  a school  teacher,  after  his 
graduation  from  an  academy,  had  given  him 
an  interest  in  educational  matters,  and  he 


4 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


and  John  H.  Vincent  had  recently  established 
at  Chautauqua,  New  York,  the  summer  schools 
and  lecture  courses  which  have  grown  into  a 
truly  national  institution.  As  a member  of 
the  Akron  school-board,  he  was  able  to  ren- 
der important  service  to  the  higher  life  of 
his  city. 

To  the  children  such  a father  presented  in 
an  intimately  personal  way  a high  ideal  of 
the  American,  actively  engaged  in  the  strenu- 
ous economic  life  of  the  nation,  yet  not  in- 
different to  those  spiritual  and 
idealistic  elements  which 
alone  can  justify  and  en- 
noble the  struggle  for 
industrial  progress. 
They  knew  that  their 
father  as  a boy  had  had 
the  odds  against  him. 
They  admired  him  for 
his  pluck  and  persist- 
ence, and  gloried  in  his 
success.  They  took  pride 
in  the  family  that  had 
come  to  Ohio  from  Penn- 
sylvania; they  revered  the  mem- 
ory of  Great-grandfather  Abraham  Miller,  a 
soldier  of  the  Revolution,  and  delighted  to 
trace  back  the  line  on  their  father’s  side  to  a 
sturdy  Hollander  who  first  set  foot  on  American 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


5 


soil  at  Philadelphia  in  1733.  To  these  ideals 
of  the  outer  and  the  larger  world  Lewis 
Miller  added  a gentleness  of  manner  and  a 
rare  fatherly  comradeship  which  endeared 
him  to  all  his  household,  and  won  a loyalty 
which  he  enjoyed  undiminished  to  his  death. 
He  lives  on  in  the  loving  memory  of  his 
family. 

Mrs.  Miller’s  life,  in  contrast  with  her  hus- 
band's, was  almost  wholly  of  the  home.  Mary 
Alexander  came  of 
those  stalwart,  in- 
domitable, Scotch- 
Irish  folk  who  have 
done  so  much  for 
the  (( winning  of  the 
West.”  They  dis- 
played those  traits  of 
courage,  self-reliance, 
unswerving  purpose, 
demanded  by  success- 
ful frontier  life.  Her 
great  - great  - grand- 
father, John  Alex- 
ander, of  the  clan  of 
McDonald,  came  to 
America  in  1 736.  The 
men  of  the  family  had  a share  in  both  the 
deliberations  and  the  fighting  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary period.  Later  a branch  of  the  Alex- 


6 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


anders  settled  in  Illinois,  where  Mary  met 
Lewis  Miller  and  became  his  wife.  After 
years  of  faithful,  loving  service,  this  sweet- 
faced, grey-eyed  little  woman  sat  among  her 
children  happy  in  their  devotion.  Eva,  the 
first-born,  had  died  the  year  before  the  family 
came  to  live  in  Oak  Place,  but  the  others 
were  full  of  vigor  and  in  robust  health.  The 
meal  time  was  a joyous  family  festival.  Good- 
humored  banter,  the  give-and-take  of  familiar 
and  affectionate  intercourse,  enlivened  the 
hour.  There  was  many  a merry  tale  at  the 
expense  of  this  brother  or  that  sister;  but  it 
was  a rare  thing  for  voices  to  grow  strident 
or  for  eyes  to  flash  in  anger.  Love  was  the 
law  of  the  household,  and  it  worked  its  way  into 
beautiful  relationships.  Around  the  mother 
father  and  children  were  grouped.  Her  room  — 
opening  from  the  sitting-room  on  the  first  floor 
— was  the  shrine  of  the  family  and  is  to-day  a 
holy  place,  made  sacred  to  her  beloved  boys 
and  girls  by  years  of  self-forgetting  devotion. 
It  would  not  be  true  to  say  that  she  sacrificed 
herself  for  them.  Rather  she  found  her  larg- 
est, noblest  self  in  serving  them.  Nor  did  she 
suffer  the  pangs  of  disappointed  hopes.  Of  all 
her  children  none  has  brought  dishonor  to  the 
family  name. 

Those  days  in  the  later  seventies  were  full 
of  happiness.  The  circle  was  unbroken.  Jane, 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


7 


returning  from  study  and  travel  abroad, 
brought  ideas  and  ideals  which  were  woven 
into  the  family  life;  Ira  was  making  himself 
an  important  factor  in  the  counting-room  of 
the  works;  Edward  was  an  undergraduate,  in- 
troducing the  lore  of  the  sophomore  and  tell- 
ing stories  of  college  life ; Robert,  full  of  quips 
and  jests,  an  inveterate  though  kindly  tease, 
made  things  lively  for  the  younger  children; 
Lewis,  always  in  high  spirits,  saw  to  it  that 
the  family  life  never  grew  stagnant ; Mina, 
Mary,  and  Grace,  restrained  with  grateful  fem- 
inine tact  the  somewhat  exuberant  boyishness 
of  their  brothers.  Last  of  all  — as  ages  are 
reckoned  — came  the  small  boys,  <(  mamma’s 
petty  boys,”  John  and  Theodore,  irrepressible, 
roguish,  affectionate,  charming,  little  fellows, 
the  delight  and  entertainment  of  the  house- 
hold. 

At  table  the  youngsters  sat  on  Airs.  Miller’s 
right  and  left.  In  her  gentle  way  she  usually 
kept  them  in  some  sort  of  order,  but  now  and 
then  in  juvenile  riot  they  would  break  all 
bounds.  The  least  sign  of  worry  or  distress 
upon  the  mother’s  gentle  face  would  bring  them 
to  instant  penitence.  Then  they  sought  by 
every  captivating  attention  to  drive  the  depress- 
ing look  away.  At  times  the  shots  of  the  older 
children  would  be  too  much  for  the  tender- 
hearted little  chaps,  who  nestled  against  their 


8 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


champion  for  comfort,  or  under  her  protection 
returned  the  fire  of  the  friendly  enemy.  There 
sprung  up  in  this  and 
other  ways  a peculiarly 
tender  and  beautiful  com- 
radeship between  the 
little  boys  and  their 
mother,  — a relation  which 
continued  unbroken 
through  youth  into  man- 
hood. 

The  prominence  of  the 
family  in  industry,  church, 
and  society  brought  Oak 
Place  into  contact  with 
a wide  circle  of  friends 
and  acquaintances.  Men 
and  women  distinguished  in  many  departments 
of  life  were  frequent  guests.  Travel  on  busi- 
ness or  pleasure  gave  members  of  the  family 
a broader  outlook  on  the  world.  The  summer 
at  Chautauqua,  where  the  Miller  cottage  was 
the  center  of  a congenial  and  jolly  company, 
extended  the  area  of  friendship.  Many  were 
the  house  parties  at  Oak  Place  where  young 
people  were  hospitably  gathered  in  large  and 
frolicsome  groups. 

All  these  things  tended  to  consolidate  the 
family,  to  awaken  and  maintain  a genuine 
and  worthy  family  pride.  Each  member  was 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


9 


devoted  to  the  ideals  of  all.  There  was  a grate- 
ful absence  of  petty  jealousies  and  selfishness. 
This  solidarity  was  admirably  shown  when  on 
Sunday  morning  every  child  from  oldest  to 
youngest  went  cheerfully  as  a matter  of  course 
to  the  Sunday  School  which,  their  father  had 
done  so  much  to  create.  He  was  superintendent, 
and  all  the  children  gladly  took  their  assigned 
places  with  a sense  of  family  responsibility  for 
the  success  of  the  institution.  Never  in  after 
life  did  they  betray  that  feeling  of  contemptu- 
ous superiority  toward  the  Sunday  School,  so 
common  among  young  men  and  young  women 
in  their  social  position.  Yet  they  were  as  far  as 
possible  removed  from  the  type  of  weakly  sen- 
timentality which  has  been  so  unfortunately 
associated  in  many  minds  with  the  Sunday 
School.  The}7  were  normal,  wholesome,  genu- 
ine youths  and  maidens,  reverent  toward  the 
things  held  sacred  by  their  parents,  and  grow- 
ing into  personal  consciousness  and  acceptance 
of  the  religious  life. 

It  was  into  this  family  that  Theodore  West- 
wood  Miller  was  born  on  the  thirtieth  day  of 
January,  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-five. 
To  give  an  impression  of  his  personality  with- 
out connecting  it  with  the  family  life  would  be 
a hopeless  task.  He  had  his  own  individuality, 
but  it  grew  out  of  a life  in  common  with  the 
others, — a peculiarly  intimate  companionship. 


JO 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


It  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  dissociate  Theodore 
as  a boy  from  John,  his  senior  by  a little  more 
than  a year.  The  (<  little  boys ” were  rarely 
mentioned  individually.  They  spoke  of  them- 
selves as  <(  ourselves. ” (<  What  are  you  coming 

to  ( ourselves  > for  mamma?  ( Ourselves  > are 
coming  to  you,”  they  exclaimed  when  through 
some  misunderstanding,  they  met  Mrs.  Miller 
returning  to  Akron  as  they  were  on  the  way  to 
join  her  at  Chautauqua. 

Theodore  in  his  early  years  gave  signs  of 
initiative  and  leadership.  He  was  fond  of  doing 
<(  stunts  ” to  arouse  the  emulation  of  his  fellows. 
At  the  tender  age  of  six,  he  drew  to  the  attic 
large,  pin-paying  crowds  of  spectators  to  see 
his  feats  upon  trapeze 
and  rings.  His  plans 
for  transforming 
happy  families  of 
dogs  and  cats  into 
menageries  of  wild 
and  ferocious  beasts 
were  hailed  delight- 
edly by  John  and  his 
other  companions.  He 
was  full  of  ideas  when  it  came  to  building 
dams  in  the  creek,  and  floating  miniature 
navies  on  the  broadened  tide.  He  would 
jump  up  and  down  with  delight,  rubbing  his 
hands  together,  and  emitting  shrill  whoops  of 


Theodore  Westwood  JMillcr 


ii 


joy,  as  the  black  soft-coal  smoke  poured  from 
the  stacks  of  (<  dug-out  ® furnaces  which  he 
and  John  had  made  on  the  flats. 

As  small  boys  John  and  Theodore  formed  a 
firm  friendship  for  (<  Dade  ” Goodrich,  a re- 
sourceful, ingenious,  whole-souled  little  man, 
who  was  one  day  to  stroke  a Harvard  eight 
against  Theodore’s  ’Varsity  crew,  and  later  as 
lieutenant  to  lead  the  playmate  of  his  boyhood 
against  the  outposts  of  Santiago.  Many  a 
happy  Saturday  did  John,  Theodore  and  (<  Dade  w 
spend  with  toy  engines,  miniature  railways,  and 
other  boyish  enterprises.  Again,  weary  of  ma- 
chinery, they  would  run  across  country  with 
their  comrades  in  games  of  hare  and  hounds, 
and  follow  your  leader.  In  all  these  parties 
Theodore  was  a center  of  fun  and  frolic.  His 
chief  happiness  was  to  make  happiness  general. 

When  the  (<  little  boys  n were  about  six  and 
eight,  Edward  or  Robert  brought  home  a set  of 
boxing  gloves.  One  day  Theodore  and  John 
put  these  on  and  fell  to  with  great  vigor.  The 
family  gathered  and  applauded  the  combatants. 
The  great  soft  gloves  could  do  no  damage  other 
than  deliver  a blow  stinging  and  for  a moment 
painful.  The  youthful  boxers  fought  with 
splendid  dash  and  energy.  Theodore  was  more 
brilliant  and  venturesome,  but  John  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  greater  weight  and  a dogged  perse- 
verance. They  battered  each  other  until  they 


12 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


lay  panting  on  the  floor,  but  even  then  Theo- 
dore would  reach  over  to  give  John  a few  inef- 
fectual punches.  Breath  regained,  they  were  up 
and  at  it  once  more.  For  a time  these  contests 
were  a popular  family  entertainment.  Some- 
times the  victory  was  awarded  to  John,  some- 
times to  Theodore,  but  never  did  the  bouts 
develop  bad  blood  and  passion. 
The  little  chaps  were  thorough 
sportsmen,  struggling  with- 
out animosity  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  contest,  and 
feeling  a pride,  each  in 
the  pluck  and  prowess  of 
the  other. 

School  life  began  for 
Theodore  at  six,  when  he 
was  enrolled  in  the  Per- 
kins School.  He  was  a 
leader  among  the  boys, 
with  several  of  whom  he 
formed  lasting  friendships. 
The  artificial  social  distinctions  which  in  after 
years  so  often  destroy  such  comradeship  seemed 
to  have  no  effect  on  Theodore.  He  was  a pub- 
lic school  boy,  coming  from  a home  where  there 
was  no  suggestion  of  snobbishness,  and  he 
formed  and  maintained  friendships  upon  the 
broad  basis  of  congenial  tastes  and  personal 
character.  Even  in  boarding-school  and  col- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


13 


lege  days,  he  did  not  forget  or  ignore  these 
old  schoolmates  and  playfellows. 

A characteristic  story  is  told  of  Theodore’s 
impulsive  eagerness  to  give  pleasure  to  his 
friends.  A small  maiden  who  lived  near  Oak 
Place  often  came  to  play  with  the  boys. 
Theodore  treated  her  with  the  gallantry  of  a 
six-year-old  beau.  One  day,  as  they  were  wan- 
dering through  the  conservatory,  Belle  admired 
the  beautiful  red  roses.  Theodore  straightway 
bid  her  hold  her  apron,  which  he  heaped  high 
with  all  the  roses  he  could  lay  hands  upon, 
every  one  plucked  close  to  the  flower. 

At  this  age  the  imagery  of  Bible  stories  was 
a frequent  medium  of  expression  with  the  lit- 
tle boys.  They  instinctively  in- 
terpreted life  in  Biblical 
phraseology  and  forms  of 
thought.  “John,”  said 
Theodore,  as  they  watched 
the  fruitless  attempts  of 
a brakeman  to  light  the 
oil  lamps  of  a railway 
car,  “ those  lamps  must 
belong  to  the  foolish  vir- 
gins.” On  another  occa- 
sion, Theodore  wrote  to  his 
mother  that  he  had  lost  h 
rubbers,  but  mindful  of  the  injunction,  <(  Seek 
and  ye  shall  find,”  he  had  continued  his  search 


i/j.  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

diligently  until  he  hit  upon  the  missing  arti- 
cles. (<  I knew  the  Bible  told  the  truth,”  was 
his  comment. 

In  winter,  the  hills  of  Oak  Place  and  vi- 
cinity afforded  capital  coasting.  (<  Bobs >>  or 
(<  double-runners  ” were  built  at  the  shops  under 
the  direction  of  the  young  inventors.  Parties 
of  friends  made  merry  on  these  swift  craft, 
guided  safely  for  the  most  part  around  curves, 
over  bridges,  across  railway  tracks  and  through 
thoroughfares.  It  took  no  little  clearness  of 
head  and  steadiness  of  hand  to  do  such  piloting 
without  disaster. 

Snow  forts  and  battles  were  Theodore’s 
hobby.  He  was  an  excellent  organizer  of  at- 
tack and  defense.  He  threw  hard  and  straight, 
and  faced  the  enemy’s  fire  with  unflinching 
pluck.  Even  when  warfare  was  waged  in  the 
autumn  with  crab  apples  for  ammunition,  he 
did  not  wince.  Many  of  the  other  boys  re- 
coiled from  the  stinging  blows,  but  ((  Thede  ” 
Miller  stood  his  ground  or  charged  the  foe 
undaunted. 

The  mechanical  interests  of  the  boys  took  a 
rather  striking  form  in  the  organization  of  a 
fire-department  in  a room  of  the  conservatory. 
They  braced  their  bicycles  in  such  a way  that 
they  could  sit  in  the  saddles  and  await  an  alarm. 
At  the  ringing  of  a bell,  John  or  Theodore 
pulled  a cord  which  released  the  double-doors. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


15 


As  these  swung  open,  out  dashed  the  eager  fire- 
men to  the  scene  of  the  conflagration.  This 
play  became  more  and  more  realistic  until  the 
boys  owned  a steam  pumping  engine  with  which 
they  put  out  blazing  barrels  and  small  huts 
hastily  built  to  serve  the  purpose  of  the  young 


Miller  Cottage  at  Chautauqua 

incendiaries.  Theodore’s  ecstatic  delight  over 
these  exciting  runs  and  contests  with  the  fires 
is  remembered  vividly  by  all  his  playfellows. 

The  summers  at  Chautauqua  opened  a wide 
field  to  the  boys.  The}7  scampered  along  the 
narrow  decks  of  the  Miller  yacht,  — the  Olivia  — 


i6 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


and  seemed  always  on  the  point  of  tumbling 
overboard;  they  organized  exploring  parties; 
they  attended  the  classes  for  little  people  ; they 
built  boats,  and  one  summer,  with  a group  of 
boys,  they  made  a playhouse  in  the  form  of  a 
passenger  car,  large  enough  to  hold  a dozen 
little  folk.  Here,  too,  many  childish  acquaint- 
ances were  formed  which  year  by  year,  grew 
into  strong  and  permanent  friendships. 

In  all  these  associations  Theodore’s  winning 
qualities  made  him  a much  sought,  eagerly  wel- 
comed companion.  He  was  ever  bubbling  with 
mirth,  responsive,  and  sympathetic,  always 
ready  to  lend  a hand,  to  smooth  over  difficul- 
ties, to  take  the  part  of  the  slighted  or  the  neg- 
lected. As  a boy,  Theodore  Miller  displayed 
all  the  elements  of  that  strong,  wholesome, 
large-hearted  personalty  which  was  one  day 
to  be  his. 


CHAPTER  IT 


It  was  just  before  the  beginning  of  their 
high  school  life  that  John  and  Theodore  be- 
came the  editors,  publishers,  and  printers  of  a 
tiny  periodical,  The  Jumbo , issued  monthly  — 
for  a time  weekly  — from  Oak  Place.  On  a 
small  hand  press,  set  up  at  first  in  the  sitting- 
room,  the  young  journalists  laboriously  turned 
out  the  little  paper.  They  took  on  the  impor- 
tant airs  of  reporters  and  editors,  and  asserted 
their  dignity  beneath  a copious  anointment  of 
printer’s  ink.  When  the  edition  had  been  run 
off,  the  members  of  the  firm  quickly  trans- 
formed themselves  into  distributors,  hastening 
to  the  post  office  with  copies  addressed  to  pat- 
rons in  the  United  States  and  foreign  countries, 
and  leaving  the  papers  of  local  subscribers  at 
their  several  doors. 

Early  in  the  career  of  The  Jumbo , some  gen- 
ius at  (<  the  shop  M invented  a newspaper  deliv- 
ery cart,  a two-wheeled  affair  with  a foot-board 
in  the  rear  and  a box  for  papers  in  front.  The 
vehicle  suggested  in  a general  way  a Roman 
chariot  for  light  pleasure  driving.  The  en- 
2 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


18 

terprising  newspaper  proprietors  at  once  in- 
sisted that  the  rapid  increase  in  the  circulation 
of  The  Jumbo  made  one  of  these  carts  an  ab- 
solute necessity.  The  later  numbers  of  the 
journal  were  consequently  distributed  with  a 
rapidity  that  made  greater  contemporaries  en- 
vious. All  Akron  looked  on  with  keen  interest 
as  one  of  the  nimble  horses  of  Oak  Place 
dashed  through  the  streets,  drawing  a brilliant 
red  cart,  on  the  swaying  foot-board  of  which 
two  bright-eyed  lads  stood  in  happy  triumph. 

The  contents  of  The  Jumbo  were  largely  of 
a personal  nature,  although  general  news  was 
by  no  means  neglected.  The  literary  style  and 
typesetting  were  not  always  entirely  conven- 
tional. Here  are  a few  lines  reproduced  from 
one  of  the  numbers: — 


LOCE.Ii  JNFOTKS 

Mr.  Lewis  Miller  is  intending  to  start  for 
Euroqe  the  ioth.  of  this  month. 

Bisboq  Foster  was  visiting  Mr.  Edison's  last 
Sonday. 

Mr.  &Mrs.  Lewis  and  Ira  Miller  sqcnt  a 
very  injoyable  evening  at  the  home  of  Mr.  & 
M rs.  Wise. 

y[r  Duncan  Saracds  mayed  a'shorr  visite’ 
at  Lev;  is  Miller  Wed  lies. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


r9 


One  issue,— that  for  April,  1888,— is  famous 
in  the  family  for  its  typographical  eccentrici- 
ties. The  large  number  of  personal  items  con- 
cerning various  branches  of  the  Miller  family 
soon  exhausted  the  capital  Ms  of  the  regular 
body  type,  so  that  the  font  of  heavy-faced  job 


The  Sitting  Room,  Oak  Place 

type  had  to  be  drawn  upon.  The  general  effect 
of  the  pages  can  easily  be  imagined.  But  the 
result  was  not  disastrous.  It  simply  gave  the 
publishers  good  ground  for  demanding  a better 
equipment,  which  was  promptly  furnished.  A 
large  foot-press  with  an  excellent  assortment 


20 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


of  type  was  set  up  in  the  attic,  and  Miller 
Brothers  announced  that  they  were  prepared 
to  do  (<  all  kinds  of  job  printing  at  reasonable 
prices.” 

The  organization  of  the  firm  was  alleged  by 
the  family  to  be  a dark  secret.  It  was  openly 
charged  that  Mrs.  Miller  was  a silent  partner 
in  the  business,  and  its  apparent  prosperity 
was  attributed  to  the  lavish  use  by  the  noisy 
partners  of  the  immense  sums  innocently 
invested  by  the  unsuspecting  victim  who  paid 
the  bills  without  sharing  the  profits.  Or 
again,  it  was  asserted  that  the  silent  partner 
was  fully  aware  of  the  situation,  and  was 
shamelessly  diverting  the  family  funds  to  the 
uses  of  the  firm. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Miller  Brothers  pushed  their 
operations  steadily.  Finally  they  made  a con- 
tract with  the  Chautauqua  Assembly  to  print 
daily  bulletins  of  public  exercises,  and  to  post 
them  on  forty  boards  scattered  through  the 
summer  town.  The  press,  type,  and  cart  were 
shipped  to  Chautauqua,  and  the  contract  was 
faithfully  and  efficiently  carried  out  for  three 
seasons.  The  job  work  which  also  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  young  printers  gave  them  a 
handsome  profit. 

It  would  be  invidious  to  compare  the  shares 
which  the  boys  took  in  this  little  enterprise. 
Never  were  two  companions  more  complemen- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


21 


tary.  Theodore  was  ever  full  of  plans,  bub- 
bling over  with  energy  and  enthusiasm.  John 
shared  in  the  joy  of  invention  and  worked  stead- 
ily to  carry  out  their  many  schemes. 


^ 11  1 r r 0* 1 ' ' 1 1 m.i:v A I.  ri>n.  Ohio, 


We  retpvt  lo  announce.  I>tit  wo  suppose  ymr  are 
F*  <d  io  hem  that  this  is  the-  last  paper  ue  will  publish. 
We  thank  the  subscribers  of  this  paper  for  theirat- 
t i ti«m  paid  to  it,  we  wish  you  a Merr.x  Christmas  and 
a I hippy  New  Year. 

-K'lit  ,,v. 

I lie  follow  iug  are  the  names  of  the  person*  w ho 
will  >pmd  their  ( Jhri'tmas  at  Oak  PIjki 

Mr  A;  Mr.'  K.  I bon  iin-l  f .unity. 

Mr  Si  M «.Jarol»  .Miller  and  Mi*s  t,i/./.v  T,i>l..r 

Mr  A M i '.  M i>t  Hint  "In unit i «-.■  1 tail ii*. 

Mi  X Mis.  Iis  Millei  hu'I  Tiuylncr  Mu  jr 

Mi  A Mr*  RoWrr  Miller. 

I lie  Misses  Marv  and  Croce  Willi  i will  spend 
l hr  i r C hristmas  in  Paris. 

Miss  Angel  of  this  city  left  Friday  fo»  Mari-n.O., 
"here  she  will  spend  her  Christina-  with  Miss 
Laura  Hardy. 

Mi'S  Jennie  Miller  and  the  Editors  and  Publish- 
ers of  this  paper  spent  Saturday  in  Cleveland. 

Dr.  Marsh.  President  of  Mount  Union  College, 
preached  in  the  First  M.  E.  Church  of  this  ei«y  yea 
tefday. 

Mr.  iSi  Mr«.  B.  'I  VincCnt  and  son  Harry  will 
spend  their  Christmas  with  Bi»hop  Vincent  in  Bull- 
aid.  N.  Y. 


The  Jumbo  served  its  educative  purpose  and 
was  gradually  superseded  by  other  interests 
until  publication  ceased  the  day  before  Christ- 


22  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

mas,  1888.  Mi'.  Edison,  who,  by  his  marriage 
with  Mina  in  1886,  had  become  a member  of 
the  family,  delighted  the  boys  by  the  gift  of  a 
small  dynamo.  Forthwith,  they  became  elec- 
tricians, and  plunged  into  the  mysteries  of  wir- 
ing, alternating  and  direct  currents,  and  the 
like.  They  wired  several  rooms  in  Oak  Place 
and  ingeniously  filled  one  of  the  trees  near  the 
house  with  a fruitage  of  colored  incandescent 
bulbs.  It  was  a keen  pleasure  to  note  Theo- 
dore’s ecstatic  joy  as  he  turned  on  the  current, 
flooding  the  rooms  with  radiance,  or  suddenly 
bringing  forth  from  the  darkness  the  luminous 
tree  upon  the  lawn. 

It  was  Mr.  Edison’s  kindness  again  which 
made  the  lads  owners  of  a phonograph.  In  a 
few  weeks  they  were  giving  exhibitions  in  the 
Sunday  School  in  Akron,  in  adjoining  towns, 
and  the  following  summer  at  Chautauqua. 
Theodore  was  the  lecturer.  He  gave  a clear, 
straightforward  description  of  the  mechanism, 
while  John  at  appropriate  times  offered  illus- 
trations with  the  phonograph. 

The  winter  of  1891  was  made  famous  in  the 
family  annals  by  a farce,  (<  Bamboozle,”  in  which 
Theodore  took  a leading  role  with  great  spirit. 
Several  jolly  weeks  were  given  up  to  rehearsals, 
and  to  the  preparation  of  a stage.  Here  the 
training  in  electric  engineering  stood  the  boys 
in  good  stead.  Footlights  and  border  lights 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  23 

were  skillfully  put  in  place  while  the  phono- 
graph served  admirably  as  an  orchestra. 1 

At  an  early  age  Theodore  showed  for  music 
a fondness  which  grew  steadily  throughout  his 
life.  As  a boy  of  twelve  he  began  to  play  the 
violin.  His  skill  was  soon  sufficient  to  gain 
him  a place  in  the  orchestra  of  the  Sunday 
School,  and  later,  in  the  High  School  he 
organized  a string  quartet  and  an  orchestra. 
A fine  voice  also  gave  him  a wide  range  of 
musical  expression.  He  took  delight  in  sing- 
ing for  his  friends,  and  was  a leader  of  song 
in  all  the  pleasure  parties  which  he  was  con- 
stantly helping  to  arrange.  One  camping 
party  at  Chautauqua  composed  a song  under 
Theodore’s  leadership,  and  every  visitor  was 
treated  to  an  overwhelming  rendition  of  the 
ode. 

Outdoor  life,  <(  roughing  it,  ” sports  of  emula- 
tion and  rivalry,  appealed  more  and  more  to 
Theodore  as  he  advanced  from  boyhood  into 
youth.  His  splendid  body  developed  in  re- 
sponse to  these  demands,  while  his  virile  spirit 
did  not  exclude  the  virtues  of  sympathy  and 
tenderness.  He  was  in  every  sense  what  our 

1 The  programme  announces  « The  Bamboozle  Theat- 
rical Company  }>  for  Friday  evening  Feb.  20,  1891.  The 
company  included  : Ruth  Seiberling,  Belle  Armstrong, 
May  Hardy,  Claire  App,  John  Miller,  Walter  Marshall, 
Theodore  Miller  and  Ion  Jackson. 


24- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


English  cousins  in  their  restrained  speech  call 
<(a  fine  lad.” 

In  school  life  <(  Thede  ” Miller  made  his  per- 
sonality tell.  He  shared  eagerly  in  all  the  ac- 
tivities of  his  mates.  At  one  time  he  was  the 
Damrosch  of  the  school ; at  another,  as  attorney 


The  Library,  Oak  Place 


for  the  defense  in  a mock  trial,  he  plead  to  such 
good  purpose  that  the  jury  promptly  gave  him 
his  case.  He  was  president  of  the  Debating 
Society  for  a time,  and  finally  graduated  with 
credit  at  sixteen,  the  youngest  member  of  his 
class.  His  speech  on  Julius  Caesar  displayed 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  25 

the  enthusiasm  of  youth  for  certain  qualities 
which  critical  historical  scholarship  denies  to 
the  conqueror  of  Gaul,  but  which  belong  to 
the  idealized  personality  of  the  great  Roman 
hero.  The  young  orator  paid  tribute  with  gen- 
uine fire  to  the  ideals  which  seemed  to  him  so 
worthy  of  praise  and  emulation,  to  the  mastery 
and  leadership  of  men  in  great  enterprises, 
against  seemingly  hopeless  odds. 

In  the  autumn  following  graduation  from  the 
high  school,  John  and  Theodore  entered  St. 
Paul’s  school,  Concord, 

N.  H.,  to  complete  their 
preparation  for  Yale. 

This  plan,  urged  stren- 
uously by  their  sister 
Jane,  not  only  gave  them 
a better  equipment  for 
their  undergraduate 
studies,  blit  also  insured 
for  them  a group  of 
friends  from  the  very 
outset  of  their  New 
Haven  life. 

The  young  Millers 
quickly  found  places  in 
the  social  system  of  St.  Paul’s. 

In  this  they  were  aided  by  the 

good  offices  of  their  friend  <(  Dade  Goodrich, 

who  had  preceded  them.  Theodore’s  athletic 


26 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


skill  won  him  a position  on  the  foot-ball 
eleven,  and  later  a seat  in  the  first  school 
boat.  In  the  gymnasium  games  the  first  prize 
in  rope-climbing  fell  to  him.  His  fine  voice 
was  soon  heard  in  the  chapel  choir,  of  which 
John  also  was  a member.  The  charm  of  his 
personality  attracted  a group  of  his  school- 
mates, who  frequented  his  room,  passing  many 
a jolly  hour  in  song  and  story,  and  in  doing 
justice  to  the  generous  boxes  which  arrived 
periodically  from  Oak  Place.  The  boys’  well- 
merited  popularity  gained  for  them  later  on 
admission  to  the  chief  school  society  <01 
>API2T0I. 

Theodore’s  first  school  letter  written  to  his 
mother  is  full  of  good  spirits.  (<  You  probably 
know,”  he  says,  <(  that  we  are  in  the  choir,  but 
it  tickles  me  so  that  I can’t  help  mentioning  it 
[in]  every  letter  I write."  Again,  of  the  school 
discipline  he  writes : (<  The  masters  are  quite 

strict  in  the  < study,’  and  all  over  in  fact,  but  I 
think  it  is  nice  to  have  some  system  about  the 
school."  His  method  of  dealing  with  home- 
sickness was  wholesome : (<  I have  often  had 

the  thought  of  home  in  my  mind,  and  a wish  to 
be  there  with  you  all,  but  I have  warded  it  off 
so  that  it  would  not  result  in  homesickness." 
Of  the  church  service  he  says : (<  Do  not  be  sur- 
prised if  we  ask  to  go  to  the  Episcopal  Church 
at  home,  for  we  will  be  so  used  to  the  services 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


27 


that  we  will  be  lost  without  them.  ® Then,  in 
a burst  of  loyalty,  he  adds:  (<  But  don’t  think 
that  we  forget  the  dear  old  Methodist  Church, 
for  I am  sure  it  goes  ahead  of  the  Episcopal.  ® 
Theodore  entered  into  the  life  of  the  school 
with  great  enthusiasm,  and  extended  the  area 
of  his  friendships  rapidly.  From  the  casual 
remark  of  a rowing  coach  that  Theodore  in  his 
first  efforts  with  the  oar  was  (<  tough,  ® the 
younger  Miller  forthwith  received  the  nick- 
name of  (<  Toughy,”  one  of  those  sobriquets  in 
which  school  boys  delight  chiefly  because  of 
their  grotesque  inappropriateness.  This  name 
was  carried  from  St.  Paul’s  to  Yale,  where  it 
shared  service  with  <(  Thede  * and  (<  T.  ” 

During  the  two  years  at  St.  Paul's,  Theodore 
maintained  in  a manly  way  his  loyalty  to  the 
religious  ideals  of  his  earlier  years.  His  serv- 
ice in  the  choir  was  not  rendered  in  a merely 
perfunctory  spirit.  He  was  also  a zealous  mem- 
ber of  the  school  missionary  society.  With 
Theodore,  religion  was  not  an  external,  inor- 
ganic thing,  but  a genuine  element  of  his 
wholesome,  energetic,  buoyant  personality. 
All  the  dearest,  most  sacred  images  of  home 
were  associated  with  religious  ideas,  which  he 
cherished  in  a simple,  unquestioning  way,  as  an 
essential  part  of  his  life. 

The  larger  interests  of  the  big  school  did  not 
weaken  the  strong  ties  which  had  so  long 


28 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


united  John  and  Theodore.  They  were  as  de- 
voted to  each  other  as  ever,  and  shared  work, 
amusements,  and  friends  in  the  same  way  as 
before.  Theodore’s  affection  for  John  was  em- 


Boys*  Room  at  St.  Paul’s 

phasized  in  one  episode  which  a schoolmate 
has  described. 

« One  day,  while  we  were  going  to  Long  Pond  in  a 
large  ’bus  which  held  about  twenty-four  fellows  and 
was  drawn  by  four  horses,  it  commenced  to  rain.  The 
driver  let  the  horses  out  and  drove  them  at  full  gallop. 
We  were  tearing  down  hill  along  a narrow  road  with  the 
hill  on  one  side  and  a precipice  on  the  other,  when  a 
woman  driving  a cart  came  in  sight  around  a bend  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill.  There  was  barely  room  for  the 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


29 


wagons  to  pass,  and  our  driver,  unable  to  check  the  speed 
of  the  horses,  attempted  to  pass  the  woman's  wagon. 
One  of  the  rear  wheels  of  our  'bus  slipped  over  the  bank, 
and  over  we  went, — boys,  wagon,  and  horses.  The  first 
thing  I saw,  on  regaining  my  senses,  was  ( T 1 scram- 
bling as  fast  as  he  could  up  the  bank  and  looking  for 
John,  whom  he  found  caught  between  a tree  and  the 
overturned  'bus.  <0,  Brother,1  are  you  hurt?1  cried 
( T 1 excitedly,  tugging  and  pulling  at  the  great,  heavy 
’bus  with  all  his  might,  but  with  little  or  no  effect  until 
he  was  assisted  by  the  crowd  of  boys.  I don’t  recollect 
what  John’s  reply  was,  but  ^’s1  vigorous  endeavors 
to  free  his  brother,  and  his  expression  of  relief  and  de- 
light at  finding  his  brother  unharmed  were  things  not 
soon  to  be  forgotten.  ® 2 

The  summer  of  1893  afforded  Theodore  a de- 
lightful experience  in  a yachting  trip  up  the 
Sound  to  Marblehead  and  back.  As  the  guest 
of  a school  friend  he  made  this  first  voyage, 
proving  himself  a capital  sailor  and  a jolly  com- 
panion. Theodore  often  spoke  of  this  cruise 
as  one  of  the  brightest  spots  in  his  singularly 
unshadowed  life. 

At  Chautauqua,  where  he  spent  a part  of 
each  summer,  Theodore  maintained  the  pleas- 
ant friendships  of  the  earlier  years  and  became 
more  and  more  prominent  in  the  merry  life  of 
the  young  people.  Whether  he  organized  pic- 
nics or  sailing  parties,  or  bicycle  runs,  or  rowed 

1From  this  incident  John  gained  the  nickname  of  “brother.” 

2 From  a letter  of  Mr.  James  H.  Simpson  to  Mr.  Lewis  Miller, 
Sept.  12,  1898. 


3° 


Theodore  Westzvood  Miller 


in  the  heavy  old  barges  bought  from  the  Yale 
navy,  or  played  tennis,  he  was  full  of  high 
spirits,  a leader  of  song,  a doer  of  (<  stunts,"  a 
plotter  of  playfulness.  Yet,  withal,  he  was 
thoughtful  and  sympathetic,  with  a careful  eye 
for  the  neglected  and  a cheering  <( jolly"  for 
the  dismal. 

In  June  1893,  the  St.  Paul’s  days  ended. 
Two  happy  years  of  healthy,  expanding  life 
had  been  added  to  Theodore’s  career.  He 
carried  with  him  higher  ideals,  and  left  behind 
a school  tradition  richer  because  of  his  part 
in  it. 


CHAPTER  III 


In  the  autumn  of  1893  Theodore  and  John 
began  their  life  at  Yale.  It  is  easy  to  imagine 
with  what  enthusiasm  they  entered 
upon  this  fascinating  career.  They 
had  spent  the  summer  along  the 
Sound  and  at  Chautauqua,  and  had 
known  the  freshman  joys  of  being 
<(Yale  men.®  At  last  they  were 
to  penetrate  the  academic  mysteries. 

Of  course  Theodore  was  an  active 
participant  in  the  rush  between  soph- 
omores and  freshmen,  on  the  eve  of 
the  opening  day.  In  the  organized 
wrestling  he  threw  his  man,  and  thus  made 
his  first  contribution  to  the  honor  of  ’97. 

Thanks  to  the  two  years  at  St.  Paul’s,  <l  T ® 
and  John  had  a group  of  friends  among  their 
classmates,  and  were  spared  the  early  days  of 
loneliness  and  isolation  which  are  often  the  lot 
of  men  coming  from  small  schools  or  private 
tutors. 

Theodore’s  ambition  was  to  secure  a Y,  the 
proud  symbol  by  which  Yale  stimulates  her 
athletes  to  excel  on  diamond,  gridiron,  track, 


J2  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

and  water.  The  call  for  hecatombs  of  fresh- 
men to  serve  as  victims  for  the  ’Varsity  eleven, 
and,  incidentally,  to  form  a class  team,  met 
with  ready  response  from  “T.®  In  the 
“ barge  ® and  on  the  field  he  soon  made  many 
friends.  His  plucky,  intelligent  play  quickly 
insured  him  a position  on  his  class  team,  with 


Durfee  Hall  and  Battell  Chapel,  Yale  Campus 


which  he  entered  all  the  important  matches  of 
the  year. 

Theodore  was  naive  and  joyous,  but  not 
<(  fresh  w in  the  peculiar  academic  sense.  He 
needed  no  discipline  to  destroy  the  individual- 
ism of  self-conceit,  and  to  substitute  for  it  that 
sense  of  subordination  and  social  solidarity 
which  is  a part  of  the  Yale  philosophy  of 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


33 


undergraduate  training.  He,  therefore,  es- 
caped all  forms  of  hazing,  and  was  passed  over 
by  the  sophomores  as  a freshman  of  the  right 
type.  This  immunity  may  have  been  due  in 
some  slight  measure  to  the  fact  that  he  and 
John  roomed  in  the  midst  of  a St.  Pard’s 
colony,  for  preparatory  school  ties  are  strong, 
even  between  first  and  second  year  men. 

But  though  Theodore  was  an  exemplary 
freshman,  he  was  in  no  sense  cowed  into  a 
humiliating  subordination  to  upper  classmen. 
In  a dispute  over  a race  between  the  freshmen 
and  juniors,  <(  T ” Miller,  righteously  indig- 
nant over  what  he  regarded  as  an  intentional 
foul,  boldly  charged  the  captain  of  the  junior 
crew  with  unfair  tactics.  When  that  haughty 
person  asked  him  to  <(  say  it  again  if  he  dared,” 
the  audacious  freshman  clearly  repeated  his 
charge,  and  prepared  to  stand  by  it.  Any 
serious  encounter  was  averted,  but  young 
Miller  was  heartily  applauded  for  his  pluck. 
Only  a Yale  man  can  fully  realize  the  signifi- 
cance of  an  incident  like  this. 

Early  in  the  winter  Theodore  became  a can- 
didate for  the  freshman  crew,  cheerfully  giv- 
ing up  the  pleasures  which  training  denied 
to  him,  and  accepting  like  a true  athlete  the 
prescribed  conditions.  He  had  no  difficulty  in 
securing  a place  in  his  class-boat,  and  trained 
with  the  crew  steadily  through  the  spring.  In 
3 


34 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


June  the  ’97  men  were  taken  to  New  London 
for  the  final  practice  pulls,  in  preparation  for 
the  annual  race  with  the  Harvard  and  Columbia 
freshmen.  The  life  at  Gale’s  Ferry  was  vastly 


Vale  Quarters,  Gale’s  Ferry 


enjoyed  by  Theodore,  who  had  already  won 
marked  popularity  with  his  fellows.  An  inci- 
dent of  this  New  London  trip,  as  described  by 
one  of  the  crew,  gives  a characteristic  and  en- 
tertaining picture  of  Theodore : — 

((We  went  down  to  New  London  on  the  freshman 
crew  in  the  spring  of  ’94.  We  took  up  quarters  at  a 
farmhouse  at  Gale’s  Ferry.  We  had  had  several  of  our 
examinations  at  New  Haven  and  were  to  take  those  re- 
maining, one  of  them  being  in  Greek,  at  Gale’s  Ferry. 
We  were  so  entranced  by  the  life  at  the  Ferry  that  our 
preparation  for  the  Greek  examination  suffered  severely; 
and  two  nights  before  that  <<exam.)>  none  of  us  had  re- 
viewed our  Plato.  The  majority  of  us  wanted  to  let 
Plato  alone,  and  all  flunk  together,' — we  called  ourselves 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  35 

the  ' Anti-Greek  Leaguers.’  But  'T’  and  one  or  two 
others  wanted  to  review  their  Plato  and  started  up  a 
somewhat  less  powerful,  but  equally  enthusiastic,  band 
of  'Greek  Leaguers,’  who  bound  themselves  to  finish 
Plato’s  Apology  before  the  "exam.”  The  'Anti-Greek 
Leaguers  ’ being  the  more  numerous  were  the  more  pow- 
erful and  would  not  allow  the  ' Greek  Leaguers  ’ to  light 
their  lamp  in  or  near  the  farmhouse,  because  of  the 
myriad  mosquitoes  and  insects  which  the  light  attracted. 
And  so  ' T ’ took  a table  and  a lamp,  and  placing  them 
on  a little  knoll  at  a distance  from  the  house,  started  on 
his  review  of  Plato.  It  seems  to  me  as  though  I can 
see  ' T ’ now,  sitting  on  that  knoll  in  the  dim  lamp  light, 
with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  his  head  resting  on  his 
hands,  ' plugging  ’ away  at  his  Greek,  while  a swarm  of 
insects  buzzed  around  his  head.  One  or  two  of  his  band 
joined  him ; but,  unable  to  stand  the  mosquitoes,  studied 
little  and  soon  deserted  to  the  ranks  of  the  ' Anti-Greeks.  ’ 
' T,’  however,  worked  all  that  evening  and  the  next,  and 
when  we  went  into  examination  was  the  only  one  who 
had  reviewed  the  Greek,  and  was  one  of  the  few  to  pass 
the  examination  successfully.1 

Theodore’s  delight  over  the  victory  which 
the  Yale  freshmen  won  from  the  Harvard  and 
Columbia  crews  was  unbounded.  He  arrived 
at  Chautauqua  an  enthusiastic  boating  man, 
and  soon  had  several  crews  rowing  in  the  old 
six-oared  barges  which  had  been  bought  from 
the  Yale  navy.  "T’s"  clear  voice  could  be 
heard  at  almost  any  hour,  echoing  over  the 
lake,  as  he  coached  his  crews  of  young  men  and 


From  a letter  of  J.  H.  Simpson,  Sept.  12,  1898. 


3 6 Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

young  women.  His  enthusiasm  was  conta- 
gious. Rivalry  was  aroused.  Regattas  were 
organized;  and  spirited  races  attracted  large 
crowds.  The  success  of  this  summer’s  work 
led  Theodore  to  start  a subscription  for  two 
new  four- oared  barges.  He  met  with  a ready 
response,  and  by  the  next  season  the  boats 
were  built  and  in  service.1 


Theodore  Coaching  a Chautauqua  Crew 

The  routine  of  study  and  athletics  absorbed 
much  of  Theodore’s  time  in  his  first  year,  but 
his  winning  personality,  his  irrepressible  good 
spirits,  and  his  genuineness  made  him  many 
firm  friends  and  pleasant  acquaintances. 

At  the  outset  of  his  Yale  life,  Theodore  left 
no  doubt  as  to  his  attitude  in  religious  matters. 
He  became  interested  at  once  in  the  work  of 

1 In  recognition  of  Theodore  Miller’s  contribution  to  boating 
on  Chautauqua  Lake,  a handsome  trophy,  known  as  (<  The 
Theodore  Miller  Cup®  has  been  purchased  for  the  annual  race 
between  the  Chautauqua  and  Chadakoin  crews. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


37 


Dwight  Hall  — the  Yale  Y.  M.  C.  A. — and 
throughout  his  course  was  known  and  respected 
as  a Christian  man.  He  led  prayer-meetings 
in  his  turn.  One  of  his  brief,  simple,  straight- 
forward addresses  is  preserved  in  his  college 
(<  memorabil  book.”  The  topic  is  love.  To 
those  who  knew  Theodore  these  rather  conven- 
tional phrases  breathe  a spirit  of  sincerity  and 
conviction.  They  are  no  mere  perfunctory 
sentences: — 

« How  many  chances  we  have  in  college  to  help  fel- 
lows nearer  Christ!  God  says:  <Love  thy  neighbor  as 
thyself.*  I wonder  how  many  of  us  ever  think  of  our 
associates  as  our  neighbors.  A kind  word  spoken  to  a 
fellow  may  change  his  life. » 

The  way  in  which  many  of  his  classmates 
have  spoken  of  Theodore’s  religious  nature, 
bears  witness  to  its  genuineness  and  its  virility. 
His  Christianity,  as  has  been  said  before,  was 
an  organic  part  of  a many-sided,  active,  joyous, 
wholesome  life.  <l  Toughy  ” Miller  was  not  a 
weakling  or  a sentimentalist.  He  was  of  a type 
which  commands  the  honest  admiration  and 
respect  of  all  clean-minded  college  men,  what- 
ever the  form  of  their  religious  convictions. 
We  get  this  glimpse  of  him  through  the  eyes 
of  a classmate : — 

« The  moral  side  of  <T’s  * nature  always  seemed  to  me 
like  a big,  clean,  strong,  granite  rock  which  has  with- 


j8  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

stood  the  storms.  The  rains  couldn’t  wash  it  away,  the 
sun  couldn’t  melt  it,  and  nothing  could  mar  its  clean 
purity.  When  another  man  lives  the  same  life  as  you 
do,  meets  the  same  temptations,  has  the  same  troubles 
and  worries  and  joys  and  happinesses,  and  goes  through 
it  all  with  the  manly,  clean,  buoyant  spirit  and  eagerness 
that  he  did,  the  tendency  to  follow  after  is  hard  to 
resist.**1 

College  life  from  the  outset  gave  Theodore 
abundant  opportunity  to  gratify  his  love  for 
music.  He  soon  became  a member  of  the  col- 
lege choir.  He  also  joined  with  great  delight 
in  the  choruses  of  his  classmates,  and  was  de- 
voted to  the  old  Yale  songs.  Later  in  his 
course  he  became  a member  of  the  second  glee 
club,  and  sang  with  this  organization  in  New 
Haven  and  vicinity.  His  letters  contain  fre- 
quent allusions  to  rehearsals  and  to  the  pleasure 
they  gave  him.  In  March,  1895,  he  writes: 
(<  The  Glee  Club  is  prospering,  and  we  do  have 
bully  times  singing.  There  are  about  twenty 
men  in  it,  and  we  4 hit  up  } the  old  Yale  songs 
so  that  it  will  [would]  ( make  your  hair  curl.  1 * 
He  was  also  concerned  in  the  organization  of  a 
small  orchestra,  which  rehearsed  in  the  rooms 
of  the  various  members.  It  seems  to  have 
been  a means  of  personal  culture  and  com- 
panionship, rather  than  an  organization  for 
public  performance.  Then,  there  was  the  sing- 


1 From  a letter  of  William  Darrach,  Oct.  6,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


39 


ing  in  the  men’s  rooms,  and  the  making  of  ex- 
temporaneous songs  or  (<  swipes.”  Singing  at 


the  fence  is  also  frequently  mentioned  in  Theo- 
dore’s letters.  He  seems  to  have  been  an 
acknowledged  leader  of  informal,  social  sing- 
ing among  his  fellows.  (<  Whenever  there  was 
a song,”  writes  a classmate,  <(  ( T > was  our 
mainstay.  His  deep  bass  voice  always  carried 
the  song  to  a successful  end.”  1 At  Chautauqua 
in  the  summer  vacation,  now  and  then,  the  si- 
lence of  the  night  would  be  broken  by  a sere- 
nade, in  which  Theodore’s  voice  was  clearly 
distinguishable. 

Thus,  in  his  first  year  at  Yale,  “T"  Miller 
entered  upon  all  of  the  many  activities  which, 


From  a letter  of  J.  H.  Simpson,  Sept.  12,  1898. 


4-° 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


in  their  further  development,  went  to  make  up 
his  college  life.  He  began  as  a man  with  many 
sympathies  and  interests,  and  maintained  this 
attitude  to  the  end  of  his  course. 

In  athletics  he  was  indefatigable  and  per- 
sistent, although  he  never  gained  first  rank 
in  any  branch  of  sport.  He  rendered  faithful 
and  efficient  service  in  his  class  crew,  was  a 
substitute  on  the  ’Varsity  eight,  coached  foot- 
ball teams  and  crews  for  the  lower  classes, 
and  was  regarded  by  the  athletic  authorities 
as  a valuable  man.  wAs  captain  of  the  Yale 
crew  in  my  senior  year,”  writes  one  of  his 
classmates,  (<  I often  needed  advice,  and  ( T * 
was  one  of  my  chief  supports,  cheering  me 
up  when  I became  despondent  and  discour- 
aged. ” 1 

In  junior  year  the  ’97  crew,  as  is  so  likely  to 
be  the  case  later  in  the  course,  had  surrendered 
to  the  ’Varsity  some  of  its  best  men,  and  had 
lost  a large  measure  of  the  esprit  de  corps  and 
enthusiasm  so  vitally  necessary  to  success  in 
athletics.  The  problem  of  reorganizing  and  re- 
vivifying the  class  crew  confronted  the  boating 
authorities  of  ’97.  With  unanimity  they  turned 
to  <(  T ® Miller  as  the  man  for  the  emergency. 
He  undertook  the  task,  and  entered  upon  the 
work  with  his  customary  spirit  and  energy. 


1 From  a letter  of  Philip.  Horton  Bailey,  Oct.  8,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  41 

His  relation  to  the  crew  is  thus  described  by  a 
classmate : — 

« But  one  man  kept  us  at  our  work,  cheering  us  when 
we  did  well,  scolding  us  when  we  needed  it,  and,  always 
earnest  and  determined  himself,  [he]  soon  communi- 
cated his  spirit  to  the  rest  of  us.  Under  such  conditions 
the  crew  quickly  gained  new  life  and  courage. H 1 

The  class  race  is  thus  described  by  one  of  the 
eight : — 

«The  race  is  a close  one  at  first,  but  gradually  our 
shell  begins  to  creep  ahead  of  the  other.  ( Now  give  her 
another  ten,  all  together ! > yelled  our  Captain,  and  the 
cry'  was  taken  up  by  the  coxswain,  and  counted  off  with 
regular  emphasis.  The  cries  of  our  classmates  reach 
our  ears,  encouraging  us  to  harder  efforts.  ( Go  it, 
’97 ! > The  increased  shouts  tell  us  we  are  near  the 
bridge,  and  as  we  pass  under  it,  and  are  glad  enough  to 
lie  on  our  oars  and  pant  for  breath  at  the  cry  of  ( avast, > 
we  see  that  we  are  five  lengths  ahead  and  the  Spring 
Regatta  is  ours.  The  credit  went  to  the  crew,  but  we 
knew  that  most  of  it  belonged  to  our  Captain,  who  had 
made  victory  possible. »  1  2 

The  great  disappointment  of  Theodore’s  ath- 
letic career  was  his  failure  to  gain  a seat  in  the 
University  eight  that  was  to  row  at  New  Lon- 
don and  at  Henley.  He  did  so  well  in  his 
struggle  for  the  position  that  the  coaches  hesi- 
tated long  before  deciding  his  fate.  For  a few 

1 From  a letter  of  James  R.  Judd,  October,  1898. 

T-lbid. 


/)2  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


days  he  was  given  the  stroke  oar.  His  excite- 
ment may  easily  be  imagined.  For  some  rea- 
son, however,  he  did  not  hold  the  coveted 
place.  He  accepted  the  result  in  a truly  sports- 
manlike spirit.  His  comment  on  the  incident 
in  a letter  to  his  father  is  thoroughly  charac- 
teristic : — - 

(<  I suppose  you  have  heard  through  mother’s  letters 
that  the  crew  don’t  seem  to  want  me  as  stroke  any  more. 
Well,  I was  not  so  very  much  disappointed  over  it,  be- 
cause I hardly  hoped  to  make  the  place  at  any  time  while 
I was  stroking.  I have  the  pleasure  now  of  thinking 
about  the  time  I was  stroking  and  that  is  better  than  not 
to  have  stroked  at  all.® 1 


The  mere  enumeration  of  the  college  socie- 
ties of  which  <(  T ” was  a member  serves  to 


1 From  a letter  of  Theodore  to  his  father,  April  8,  1895. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


4-3 


reflect  something  of  his  position  in  his  class  and 
in  the  University.  He  was  among  the  organ- 
izers of  a new  sophomore  society, — Kappa  Psi ; 
he  was  one  of  the  first  fifteen  to  be  chosen  for 
the  junior  fraternity  of  Delta  Kappa  Epsilon , 
and  in  senior  year  he  won  the  distinction  of 
membership  in  the  Wolf's  Head  society. 

With  the  passing  of  the  years  and  the  in- 
creasing multiplicity  of  interests,  Theodore 
showed  no  apathy  towards  religious  work.  He 
joined  a group  of  classmates,  banded  together 
to  exert  influence  in  quiet,  unobtrusive  ways 
upon  their  fellows.  These  men  met  in  each 
others’  rooms  for  conference  and  prayer.  A 
member  of  this  little  company  says  of  Theo- 
dore : — 

<(  There  was  nothing  weak  or  sentimental  about  his 
Christianity.  It  was  rugged  and  hearty  like  everything 
else  about  him.  . . . ( T > Miller  on  his  knees  before 

his  God  was  the  same  whole-hearted  and  sturdy  man  ail 
his  classmates  knew.  He  prayed  in  the  most  straight- 
forward way  for  just  what  he  felt  he  needed,  and  more 
than  the  rest  of  us,  I think,  he  consistently  tried  to  do 
what  he  prayed  to  accomplish. » 1 

In  his  sophomore  year  Theodore  took  a class 
in  the  Bethany  Mission  Sunday  School,  an  in- 
stitution maintained  by  the  Christian  men  of 
the  University.  In  his  senior  year  he  was 
chosen  as  superintendent.  He  undertook  this 


1From  a letter  of  Henrv  Sloane  Coffin.  SeDt.  20.  1808. 


u 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


work  with  the  same  infectious  enthusiasm 
which  he  showed  in  everything  he  did.  One  of 
his  colleagues  gives  this  picture : — 

(<  There  is  one  phase  of  his  college  career  that  I should 
like  to  mention.  . . . That  is  his  work  at  the  Beth- 

any Mission  School.  Of  all  the  beautiful  remembrances 
I have  of  him,  I think  the  most  beautiful  and  the  one 
which  I think  of  oftenest,  is  that  of  Theodore  standing 
up  there  on  the  platform  of  the  little  Mission  and  talking 
in  his  sympathetic  and-  simple  way  to  those  little  chil- 
dren. And  then,  perhaps,  his  coming  down  and  going 
over  to  some  little  child  and  putting  his  arm  on  his 
shoulder  and  talking  to  him  by  himself,  to  cheer  him  up 
when  he  was  troubled  over  something,  and  seeing  the 
smile  come  back  to  the  child’s  face  again. 

«And  at  Christmas  time  with  his  messages  and  tele- 
grams from  Santa  Claus  to  them,  he  was  the  wonder 
and  the  admiration  of  them  all.®1 

Another  mentions  the  same  incident:  — 

«In  our  senior  year  he  was  superintendent  of  the 
Bethany  Sunday  School,  and  he  seemed  to  be  in  his  ele- 
ment among  children.  I cannot  forget  a Christmas  fes- 
tival at  which  he  presided.  One  could  not  tell  who  was 
the  more  pleased,  the  children  all  excited  and  eager  to 
receive  their  gifts,  or  <T,)  who  beamed  on  everyone, 
and  whose  face  was  radiant  with  good  feeling.®2 

The  influence  which  Theodore  exerted  on  his 
classmates  is  mentioned  feelingly  by  many  of 


1From  a letter  of  Clarence  M.  Fincke,  Oct.  5,  1898. 

2 From  letter  of  H.  S.  Coffin,  Sept.  20,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


45 


them  in  their  letters  and  reminiscences.  Here 
is  a typical  paragraph : — 


<(  But  perhaps  I drew  nearer  to  < T>  in  the  quiet  heart- 
to-heart  talks  we  used  to  have  after  the  class  prayer- 
meetings  in  Dwight  Hall,  or  as  we  returned  from 
Bethany  Mission  Sunday  School.  I could  not  talk  with 
many  men  as  I did  with  him.  He  never  misunderstood 
me,  and  contact  with  his  large  heart  and  strong  religious 
character  soothed  many  troubled  times,  and  left  me  a 
better  man  ® 1 


Absence  from  home  and  contact  with  an  ab- 
sorbing life,  seemed  to  have  effected  no  change 

affectionate  at- 
his  family.  He 
tinued  to  be 
They  were 
roommates, 
dore’s  athlet- 
somewhat  dif- 
acquaintances, 
) friends  were 
course  no  one 
can  ever  think  of  ( T > without  having  John  in 
the  same  thought,”  writes  a friend.  “They 
were  scarcely  ever  apart,  and  the  brotherly  re- 
lation between  the  two  seemed  ideal,  and  we, 
in  the  class  of  '97,  will  always  have  them  in 
mind  together,  more  like  one  than  two  separate 
individuals.  ” 2 


in  Theodore’s 
titude  towards 
and  John  con- 
inseparable, 
classmates  and 
While  Theo- 
ics  gave  him  a 
ferent  circle  of 
their  intimate 
the  same.  “ Of 


'■From  a letter  of  Albert  F.  Judd,  Jr. 

2 From  a letter  of  H.  S.  Coffin,  Sept.  20,  1898. 


46 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


Theodore  and  John  maintained  a frequent 
and  full  correspondence  with  father  and  mother, 
brothers  and  sisters.  Theodore’s  letters  are  the 
naive,  unaffected  expression  of  his  character. 
They  abound  in  bits  of  fun,  in  guileless  hints 
as  to  the  importance  of  sending  boxes  of  good 
things  from  Akron,  in  undisguised  appeals  for 
needed  funds,  and  in  bits  of  affectionate  senti- 
ment. In  all  this  correspondence  there  is  not 
the  least  suggestion  of  the  dutiful  son  writing 
an  impressive  letter  to  his  solicitous  parents. 
Everything  in  which  he  takes  an  interest  is 
frankly  and  fully  described.  He  has  nothing 
to  conceal,  and  he  writes  with  a running  pen 
whatever  wells  tip  into  his  pure  and  happy 
heart.  There  is  much  talk  of  athletics,  of  his 
hopes  and  fears  and  disappointments,  but 
never  a bitter  word  or  cynical  sentence  is  to  be 
found  in  all  the  pages.  He  looks  upon  life  as 
affording  boundless  opportunities  for  happi- 
ness, and  he  turns  everything  to  some  account 
in  filling  up  his  cup  of  joy.  He  speaks  of  his 
friends  enthusiastically,  of  their  loyalty  and 
kindness,  and  of  the  pleasure  which  he  takes 
in  their  companionship. 

There  are  more  intimate  passages,  full  of  so- 
licitude for  father  and  mother,  with  now  and 
then  a bit  of  filial  advice  about  caring  for  their 
health,  and  exhortations  not  to  worry  about 
John  and  him. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


4-7 


He  is  just  back  from  his  first  Christmas 
vacation,  and  writes:  — 

« Here  we  are  again  all  alone  with  twenty-five  hun- 
dred fellows.  But  the  fellows  can  by  no  means  take  the 
place  of  you  people  at  home.  You  cannot  imagine  how 
I would  love  to  be  at  home  now,  and  how  much  I 
dreaded  leaving. W1 

In  urging  members  of  the  family  to  attend 
commencement  Theodore  ends  a letter  with 
this  playful  summons : — 

« This  is  your  last  chance,  and  positively  the  last  ap- 
pearance of  the  Miller  Bros,  in  their  famous  melo- 
drama ( College  Life  at  Yale?  Come 
early  and  avoid  the  ( rush.  > »1  2 

It  was  in  the  informal 
daily  contact  with  his  fel- 
lows that  Theodore  took 
his  chief  delight.  He 
and  John  were  members 
of  a congenial  group 
who  spent  many  a jolly 
hour  in  singing  and  story- 
telling before  the  blazing 
logs,  in  sailboats  upon  the 
harbor,  in  tramps  to  neighb 
ing  villages,  and  in  trips  with  THE0D0RE’a  Chum 
the  athletic  teams.  In  junior  and  senior  years 
the  First  Entry  of  White  Hall  was  the  habitat 


1From  a letter  of  Theodore  to  his  mother,  Jan.  8,  1894. 

2 From  a letter  to  Mary,  May  or  June,  1897. 


4$ 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


of  this  good  company.  Theodore  was  never 
happier  than  during  those  winter  evenings 
with  his  friends,  sitting  before  the  fire,  lead- 
ing the  singing,  shouting  impromptu  verses, 
and,  perhaps,  as  a grand  finale,  provoking 
one  of  those  safety  valves  of  youthful  spirits 
known  as  a <(  rough  house. n A member  of 
this  band  describes  an  evening  which  ended 
in  this  fashion:  — 

« As  I think  over  such  times  I remember  well  a cer- 
tain evening.  The  White  Hall  crowd,  which  was  ac- 
customed, during  the  winter  term  of  our  senior  year,  to 
loaf  together  one  evening  each  week,  was  collected  in 
Darrach’s  room.  Before  the  party  broke  up  a < rough 
house  1 was  started,  and  in  this  as  in  other  things 
<Toughy)  wasn’t  very  far  from  the  front  and  wasn’t  the 
quietest  man  either.  In  the  course  of  time  a feather 
pillow  was  broken  open  and  its  contents  distributed 
generously  over  the  room  and  the  men.  Theodore,  of 
course,  enjoyed  this  as  much  as  any  one,  and  was  right 
willing  to  do  his  share  in  the  work  necessitated  by  the 
accident.  He  was  a man  who  was  always  welcome,  no 
matter  what  was  going  on,  and  one  who  could  sympa- 
thize with  and  advise  as  well  as  rejoice  with  his  fellow 
men.®1 

The  part  which  Theodore  took  in  this  little 
social  colony  has  been  admirably  described  by 
an  appreciative  classmate : • — 

“He  took  great  pleasure  in  being  able  to  give  you 
something,  and  if  a box  arrived  from  home,  he  and  John 

1 From  a letter  of  Eben  Hill,  Jr.,  Sept.  30,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


49 


kept  open  house  for  their  friends.  When  you  heard  his 
voice  below  your  window,  there  was  good  feeling  in  his 
very  call,  and  when  he  came  into 
the  room  he  seemed  to  bring  the 
fresh  air  in  with  him.  He  was 
himself  so  genial  and  whole- 
hearted that  nearly  everything  ap- 
peared to  please  him,  and  he  took 
keen  delight  in  what  seemed  very 
commonplace  to  many  of  his  class- 
mates. I never  knew  a man  who 
got  so  much  solid  enjoyment  out 
of  life.  He  hated  to  miss  anything 
that  was  going  on,  and  he  could 
throw  himself  into  whatever  hap- 
pened to  be  doing,  apparently  for- 
getful of  everything  else.”1 

Theodore’s  acquaintances 
extended  far  beyond  the  limits  of  this  inner 
circle.  He  was  a prominent  figure  in  class 
undertakings.  In  sophomore  year,  on  Wash- 
ington’s birthday,  he  was  in  the  very  van  of 
his  classmates,  as  they  marched  proudly  for  the 
first  time,  with  their  silk  hats  and  (<  bangers,” 
about  the  campus  and  along  the  streets. 

He  was  also  in  the  great  snow  battle,  which 
has  been  passed  on  in  Yale  annals  as  one  of  the 
famous  contests  of  the  decade.  The  sophomores 
were  posing  on  the  fence  for  a photograph, 
when  the  freshmen,  set  on  by  the  upper  class- 
men,  made  an  attack  upon  their  traditional 

1 From  a letter  of  H.  S.  Coffin,  Sept.  20,  ’98. 

4 


and  friendships 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


5°_ 

foes.  The  sophomores  retaliated  fiercely. 
Somehow,  Theodore,  a junior,  found  himself 
the  leader  of  the  attacking  party.  He  showed 
great  skill  and  pluck,  and  won  high  praise  on 
all  sides  for  his  generalship  and  grit.  His  own 
description  of  the  battle  reflects  his  joy  in  ac- 
tivity and  rivalry : — 

(( We  had  a great  game  here  on  Washington’s  birth- 
day. The  sophomores  tried  to  have  their  picture  taken 
on  the  fence,  and  the  freshmen,  backed  by  the  upper 
classmen,  snowballed  them,  and  broke  up  the  group. 
Then  a regular  snowfight  began.  Before  I knew  it  I 
was  heading  the  opposition  party.  I felt  like  a regular 
general,  and  harangued  the  men  before  we  made  a 
charge,  and  yelled  to  them  when  we  were  attacked. 
The  fight  lasted  about  half  an  hour,  but  it  seemed  sev- 
eral [hours].  We  ended  about  even  as  to  ground 
gained,  but  I came  out  of  it  with  a black  eye  and  face 
all  scratched  up,  from  balls  hitting  me.  My  lip  was  cut 
and  my  thumb  pretty  well  skinned.  It  was  the  best 
game  we  ever  had  here  yet.  And  an  old  ninety-six  man 
said  it  was  the  best  snow  fight  he  had  ever  seen. 

At  Chautauqua  each  year  a Fresh  Air  Fund 
entertainment  is  given  by  the  young  people. 
In  these  circuses  and  vaudeville  shows,  Theo- 
dore was  one  of  the  star  performers.  He  made 
a stunning  young  woman  for  the  street  pro- 
cessions, and  sang  solos  in  a voice  which  ranged 
from  falsetto  to  deep  bass.  His  last  triumph 
was  the  impersonation  of  a popular  prima 


From  a letter  of  May  7,  1897. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


5i 


donna , who  was  singing  in  the  Chautauqua 
concerts.  His  imitation  of  this  soloist’s  man- 
nerisms and  gestures  was  greeted  with  tumul- 
tuous applause  and  shouts  of  laughter.  He  was 
dressed  most  effectively  for  the  part,  and  made 
a strikingly  handsome  picture.  The  boyish 
glee  with  which  he  entered  into  these  enter- 
tainments, and  all  the  other 
forms  of  recreation,  in- 
creased his  popularity 
from  year  to  year. 

From  the  many  an- 
ecdotes which  illustrate 
different  phases  of 
Theodore’s  character, 
a few  typical  inci- 
dents may  be  chosen. 

One  of  his  class- 
mates, after  a hard 
winter’s  work  as  a can- 
didate for  the  crew,  was 
finally  told  that  he  would 

Theodore  and  Frank  Wade 

not  be  needed  even  as  a sub- 
stitute. Theodore,  who  had  been  chosen,  felt 
keenly  this  disappointment  of  his  friend.  The 
latter  thus  describes  an  incident  which  grew 
out  of  the  situation : — 

<(A  very  discouraged  and  disappointed  sophomore  sat 
in  his  room  that  morning,  trying  to  console  himself  with 
his  pipe,  which,  at  least,  was  denied  to  the  others. 


5^ 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


There  was  a brisk  knock  at  the  door,  and  a < come  in  > 
preceded  a cheery  voice.  No  sign  of  pleasure  at  gain- 
ing the  cherished  Y was  visible,  but  only  sorrow  at  his 
friend’s  disappointment.  < Poor  Bill,  > he  said,  < I’m 
awfully  sorry  you  were  dropped  this  morning.  It  makes 
me  feel  as  if  I didn’t  deserve  the  honor ; cheer  up,  old 
man,  you’ve  got  a bully  show  for  the  crew  next  year.*  1)1 

Theodore’s  unconsciousness  of  self  and  dis- 
regard of  mere  conventionalities  were  inter- 
esting traits.  He  did  whatever  was  at  hand  in 
a straightforward  fashion,  with  little  thought 


Theodore  as  a Lady  on  the  Rear  Seat 


of  criticism  and  ridicule.  One  day  at  Chautau- 
qua he  set  out  on  an  excursion  with  a party  of 
young  people.  They  were  to  go  on  their  bi- 
cycles to  a fashionable  resort,  and  thence  return 

1 From  a letter  of  William  Darrach,  Oct.  6,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


53 


by  boat.  By  some  mishap  at  the  beginning  of 
the  trip,  Theodore  fell  into  the  water.  With- 
out any  thought  of  the  consequences,  he 
promptly  mounted  his  wheel  and  rode  a dozen 
miles  over  a dusty  road.  His  duck  trousers, 
after  this  treatment,  caused  a buzz  of  comment 
and  many  a smile,  as  he  promenaded  a crowded 
pier;  but  he  seemed  entirely  unconcerned,  and 
laughed  good-naturedly  at  his  plight.  He  was 
fond  of  fun,  even  at  his  own  expense. 

He  never  ceased  to  laugh  uproariously  over 
an  experience  with  three  friends  in  sailing  a 
yacht  from  the  lower  part  of  Chautauqua  lake 
to  a point  at  the  upper  end.  There  was  a 
strong  headwind,  and  the  yachtsmen  beat  back 
and  forth  in  an  apparently  vain  attempt  to 
make  headway  against  it.  Darkness  came  on, 
and  still  it  seemed  impossible  to  pass  certain 
points  on  either  shore.  After  three  hours  of 
such  beating,  Theodore  discovered  that  the 
anchor  was  overboard  and  full  of  weeds.  He 
laughed  heartily  at  the  time,  although  the 
others  were  no  longer  able  to  see  any  fun  in 
the  situation,  and  he  continued  his  cheerful 
chuckling  after  the  wind  had  gone  down,  the 
boat  had  been  anchored,  and  the  crew  were 
tramping  homeward  a weary  five  miles  along 
the  turnpike,  in  the  early  morning  hours. 

One  of  the  happiest  summers  of  Theodore’s 
life  was  that  he  spent  in  England  and  France, 


54  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

the  vacation  of  his  junior  year.  He  had  failed 
to  go  to  Henley  as  a member  of  the  crew,  but, 


Camping  on  a Chautauqua  Houseboat 


determined  to  see  the  race,  he  obtained  a po- 
sition as  correspondent  for  the  United  Press, 
and  sailed  for  England  on  the  same  ship  with 
the  crew.  At  Henley  he  had  quarters  near  the 
Yale  men,  and  shared  in  all  the  courtesies 
which  were  shown  the  visiting  boatmen.  He 
and  three  other  Yale  (<  heelers”  challenged  a 
Henley  crew  to  a race.  The  Americans  won, 
and  Theodore  was  wont  to  say  with  great  satis- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


55 


faction  that,  even  if  he  did  not  make  the 
University  crew,  he  at  least  rowed  in  the  only 
Yale  boat  that  ever  won  at  Henley. 

Theodore’s  description  of  Henley  is  well 
worth  preservation : — 

HENLEY 

« To  one  who  has  seen  the  Henley  Regattas  and  es- 
pecially to  one  who  has  lived  there  three  weeks,  this 
simple  title  brings  back  a flood  of  recollections  that 
would  make  a good-sized  book,  but  as  this  is  to  be  only 
an  essay  I cannot  go  into  details  too  far. 

(<  The  Henley  Regattas  and  town  itself  have  been  so 
well  described  and  elaborated  upon  by  those  who  have 
visited  it,  and  so  much  better  than  I can  picture  it  with 
pen,  that  I will  omit  that  part  of  description  in  general 
and  confine  myself  to  Yale’s  place  there. 

ttThe  Yale  crew  arrived  by  special  train  from  South- 
ampton after  a remarkably  smooth  and  comfortable 
voyage,  which  was  made  very  enjoyable  by  the  jovial 
spirits  of  the  men.  They  were  free  from  those  restraints 
which  so  characterized  the  voyage  of  the  Cornell  crew  a 
year  ago,  and  Mr.  Cook  allowed  the  men  perfect  free- 
dom to  do  as  they  pleased  except  at  the  exercises.  The 
work  was  not  so  burdensome  that  it  interfered  with 
their  pleasure,  but  the  regular  hours  and  exercise  made 
them  feel  much  better  than  they  would  have  felt  if  they 
had  not  exercised. 

(<  They  were  in  perfect  condition  when  they  arrived  at 
Henley  where  they  were  met  by  the  mayor  and  Secre- 
tary Cooper  of  the  Regatta  committee.  After  a short 
speech  of  welcome  and  the  necessary  reply  of  Captain 
Treadway,  the  crew  carried  their  boats,  which  had  been 
placed  on  the  special  train,  a short  distance  to  the  river, 
and  they  were  floated  across  the  river  to  the  boathouse. 


56  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

(<  The  mayor  showed  the  men  to  their  quarters,  and 
lunched  with  them.  He  at  once  became  very  friendly, 
and  made  himself  almost  indispensable  with  his  counsel 
and  advice. 

<(  The  Yale  men  occupied  one  of  the  prettiest  places  at 
Henley,  and  with  one  exception,  New  College,  the  most 
elegant  quarters  of  all  the  crews  at  the  Regatta.  The 
place  called  (Marsh  Mills, } is  a private  residence,  now  for 
sale,  rented  by  the  Yale  management  for  the  crew  dur- 
ing their  stay  at  Henley.  It  is  situated  about  half  a 
mile  from  Henley  Bridge.  This  structure  is  the  land- 
mark for  the  surrounding  country,  and  connects  the 
main  street  of  Henley  with  the  side  of  the  river  on 
which  are  the  Yale  quarters  and  the  boathouse.  It 
adds  greatly  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  river  at  this 
point,  and  from  it  one  can  get  a splendid  view  of  the 
course. 

<(  In  their  temporary  home,  which  one  would  have 
made  permanent,  the  crew  was  most  luxuriously  es- 
tablished. The  place  gets  its  name  from  the  fact  that 
its  rather  low  ground  was  once  a marsh,  and  there  is 
now  an  old  mill  on  the  place  which  is  still  in  operation. 
The  marsh  has  been  filled  in  and  is  now  an  island  of 
beautiful  verdure.  The  lawns,  flower  beds,  and  shrub- 
beries, are  most  artistically  arranged  and  put  one  con- 
stantly in  mind  of  his  fanciful  ideals  of  childhood.  The 
owner  was  a wealthy  farmer,  and  spared  no  means  in 
beautifying  his  home  with  all  that  money  could  buy  or 
nature  provide.  A mill-race,  walled  on  one  side,  sepa- 
rates the  island  from  the  main  lawn,  but  a rustic  bridge 
spans  the  stream,  and  leads  to  the  boathouse  on  the 
island  where  the  rowboats  are  kept.  A fine  garden  and 
greenhouses  furnished  vegetables  and  grapes  for  the 
table,  and  beyond  the  garden  was  an  elegant  tennis 
.court,  marked  out,  with  nets  and  everything  in  readiness 
for  players. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


57 


<(  All  these  things  were  thrown  open  to  the  crew  and 
the  house  was  left  furnished  just  as  the  owner  had  it 
when  he  lived  there.  The  china  and  silver  were  all  in 
their  places,  and  the  old  English  butler  with  a second 
man  provided  things  as  homelike  as  possible.  The 
bric-a-brac  and  furniture  about  the  house  made  the  men 
as  comfortable  as  they  would  have  been  at  home,  and 
were  a distinct  change  from  the  old  quarters  at  Captain 
Brown’s.  There  was  some  fear  at  first  that  the  men 
would  suffer  bad  effects  from  the  low  position  of  the 
quarters,  but  they  proved  quite  free  from  any  disease 
and  it  would  seem  as  if  they  were  more  desirable 
than  Cornell’s  quarters  last  year,  which  were  situ- 
ated quite  a distance  from  the  river,  since  the  Cor- 
nell men  were  quite  badly  affected  by  the  change  of 
climate. 

<(  The  crew  made  its  first  appearance  on  the  water 
about  five  o’clock  on  the  day  they  arrived,  and  attracted 
much  attention  from  the  boatmen,  who  were  heard  to 
say,  < Why,  that’s  the  same  crew  that  came  from  America 
last  year.  > 

« It  is  very  easy  to  see  how  they  made  this  mistake, 
however  grievous,  for  the  Yale  stroke  that  day  was  so 
distinctly  different  from  the  English  stroke  that  it  ap- 
peared very  much  like  the  short  Cornell  stroke.  Trinity 
Hall  was  the  only  other  crew  on  the  river,  they  having 
arrived  a day  or  two  previously.  Her  first  appearance 
to  Yale  men  made  a remarkable  impression,  and  at  once 
set  Mr.  Cook  to  thinking.  The  crew  had  profited  by 
Cornell’s  experience,  and  had  come  provided  with  a 
good  supply  of  shirts  and  jerseys  with  short  sleeves.  In 
truth,  Yale  owes  Cornell  a great  deal  for  the  splendid  im- 
pression she  [Yale]  made;  for  many  mistakes  and  acci- 
dents were  avoided  by  knowledge  acquired  from  Cornell’s 
troubles.  The  first  day’s  work  came  very  hard,  and  the 
men  found  many  stiff  joints  and  muscles,  but  by  the 


Theodore  West  worn  Miller 


58 


time  they  were  ready  to  come  in,  they  had  overcome  any 
ill  effects  of  the  voyage. 

<(  The  boathouse  is  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  Henley 
Bridge,  and  is  easily  accessible  from  the  Yale  quarters 
by  either  the  road  or  the  river.  Several  bicycles  were 
kept  at  the  Marsh  Mills,  and  with  these  it  is  but  a mo- 
ment’s ride,  so  smooth  and  level  are  the  roads  about 
Henley.  By  way  of  the  river  it  is  rather  longer  but  a 
comfortable  row,  the  pleasure  of  which  was  usually  given 
to  the  ever  weary  substitutes.  In  the  boathouse  the 
Yale  men  came  in  contact  with  many  of  their  rival  oars- 
men, and  thus  was  given  each  an  opportunity  to  judge 
of  the  others’  social  qualities.  Not  only  the  eights,  but 
also  the  fours,  pairs,  and  scullers,  meet  here  in  most 
friendly  relations  on  common  ground. 

(<A  special  man  cared  for  the  Yale  shell,  as  he  does 
here,  adjusted  and  repaired  the  rigging,  and  kept  the 
boat  in  trim  during  the  season.  It  is  the  custom  for 
each  crew  to  provide  its  own  boatman,  and  Cornell  went 
so  far  as  to  have  an  extra  watchman,  besides  the  boat- 
man, to  keep  constant  guard  over  this  boat  to  prevent 
foul  play. 

« In  looking  about  the  boathouse,  one  notices  at  once 
the  difference  between  the  English  and  Yale  shells.  The 
former  are  built,  while  our  boats  are  made  of  paper. 
The  lines  of  the  two  shells  are  almost  identical,  but  the 
English  boats  sit  a little  lower  in  the  water.  The  inte- 
rior constructions  of  the  boats  differ  widely;  for  in  Yale’s 
there  is  a complicated  network  of  braces  and  bars,  ren- 
dered necessary  by  the  lack  of  stiffness  of  the  paper 
shell,  while  the  English  shell  is  marked  by  its  simplicity, 
there  being  nothing  visible  but  the  seats  and  footbraces, 
and  the  necessary  gunwale  strip.  Another  point  of 
vastly  more  importance,  and  which  mainly  characterizes 
the  different  shells,  is  the  arrangement  of  the  seats  and 
footbraces.  In  the  English  shells,  these  are  placed  on 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


59 


alternate  sides,  each  man  sitting  well  to  the  side  oppo- 
site his  own  oarlock.  The  advantage  derived  from  this 
arrangement  is  the  increased  leverage,  while  in  the  Yale 
boat  the  men  sit  over  the  keel  in  a straight  line,  this  en- 
abling them  to  keep  better  time,  and  affording  less 
resistance  to  the  wind.  Another  point  of  vantage  in 
Yale’s  place  is  the  freedom  permitted  in  arranging 
men  as  regards  weight,  as  no  care  has  to  be  taken  to  ex- 
actly balance  the  boat.  Yale  seems  to  think  that  Eng- 
land has  the  better  boat ; for  Captain  Bailey  has  had  a 
boat  constructed  with  seats  to  the  side,  as  the  English 
have,  and  a test  will  be  made  probably  this  fall.  I have 
not  yet  heard  of  England’s  adopting  any  of  Yale’s 
principles. 

(<  To  see  the  two  crews  at  practice,  one  is  struck  with 
the  lack  of  form  in  one,  and  the  excess  of  it  in  the  other. 
While  Yale  believes  in  keeping  the  body  fairly  erect  and 
saving  energy-,  the  English  believe  in  absolute  disregard 
' of  form,  their  whole  attention  being  put  upon  the  water- 
manship, or  ability  of  handling  the  blade  in  the  water; 
at  least  so  it  appeared  to  me.  The  English  critics  (for 
all  the  people  about  Henley,  from  the  youth  in  knee- 
breeches  to  the  old  man,  are  rowing  critics)  who 
watched  the  crews  from  the  bridge,  gave  this  unique 
name  to  our  crew, — (The  Yankee  Beeliners.* 

<(  England  has  clearly  proved  her  superiority,  but  do 
we  know  where  it  lies?  Has  Yale  given  her  stroke  a 
fair  test  ? These  questions  have  arisen  in  every  Yale 
man's  mind,  and  they  have  had  more  or  less  cause.  Mr. 
Cook  has  been  blamed,  and  with  some  justice,  but  it  is 
hard  for  one  to  realize  his  position.  He  saw  his  mistake 
on  the  second  day,  and  at  once  made  the  crew  lower 
their  stroke  to  about  twenty -five  or  less.  He  made  them 
reach  forward  more  on  the  catch,  and  without  a radical 
change  tried  to  lengthen  out  the  stroke.  The  crew 
rowed  the  course  with  a low  stroke  in  splendid  time  for 


6o 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


a few  strokes,  but  when  they  raised  the  stroke,  it  short- 
ened proportionately.  About  the  middle  of  the  second 
week,  Mr.  Cook  saw  that  something  had  to  be  done.  By 
his  clever  means  he  gained  knowledge  from  the  English 
coaches.  His  means  have  aroused  a good  deal  of  criti- 
cism, and  are  better  left  undescribed.  He  concluded, 
from  the  information  he  gained,  that  Yale  was  using  too 
broad  oars,  and  that  while  they  are  good  for  a low 
stroke,  in  a high  stroke  they  do  not  allow  enough  give  or 
slip  through  the  water.  This  Mr.  Cook  considered  the 
vital  point,  and  the  real  reason  why  Yale  could  not 
lengthen  her  stroke.  He  at  once  ordered  English  oars, 
but  they  were  poorly  made,  and  while  these  were  being 
tried  the  crew  lost  the  most  valuable  time  of  the  whole 
training ; that  is,  the  last  week  before  they  ease  off  the 
work.  They  not  only  lost  the  time,  but  were  set  back 
by  the  change.  When  the  crew  abandoned  the  English 
oars  and  took  their  old  ones,  they  rowed  the  course  in  . 
the  best  time  they  had  made  that  far.  This  was  due,  of 
course,  to  the  uncomfortable  feeling  the  new  clumsy  ones 
had,  and  the  agreeable  change  to  the  old;  for  all  the 
men  wanted  to  use  the  old  oars.  The  next  practice 
proved  this ; for  the  crew  went  back  to  the  old  time,  and 
then  their  hopes  began  to  fall.  Mr.  Cook  said  at  the 
quarters,  several  days  before  the  race,  out  of  the  hear- 
ing of  the  crew,  that  he  plainly  saw  that  the  crew  would 
be  beaten.  The  men  kept  heart  wonderfully  well,  in 
spite  of  discouragement,  and  I believe  they  hoped  to  win. 
The  crew  was  not  affected  by  the  change  of  climate,  and 
had  a fair  show  to  test  their  ability  in  every  particular. 
They  had  won  the  better  course  throughout  their  sched- 
ule, and  everything  pointed  to  success,  but  the  results  are 
known  too  well  already,  and  rest  as  well  unmentioned. » 

After  the  Henley  Regatta,  Theodore,  in 
company  with  a friend,  took  a wheeling  trip  of 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


61 


a fortnight  in  England,  and  then  with  a larger 
group  made  a short  journey  on  the  Continent. 
The  little  party  traveled  so  rapidly,  and  lost  so 
much  sleep  that  on  the  Rhine  boat  they  were 
all  in  a somnolent  state.  Lest  they  should  miss 
the  most  important  views,  they  established  a 
look  out  system,  by  which  one  of  the  party 
was  to  keep  awake  and  call  the  others  when  the 
guide-book  enjoined  enthusiastic  admiration  of 
the  view.  Theodore  always  asserted  that  the 
other  men  slept  on  duty,  and  that  they  missed 
almost  all  that  was  worth  seeing  along  the 
historic  stream. 

At  Heidelberg,  the  American  students  were 
fortunate  in  hitting  upon  a University  celebra- 
tion with  special  illuminations  of  the  castle  and 
other  festivities.  They  were  also  admitted  to 
a series  of  students’  duels  in  the  famous  inn 
across  the  Neckar. 

Theodore  was  missed  from  Chautauqua  dur- 
ing his  vacation  abroad,  and  all  were  glad, 
when, the  following  year,  he  resumed  his  wonted 
place.  In  addition  to  coaching  the  crews  he 
rendered  faithful  and  intelligent  service  in  con- 
nection with  the  office  work  of  the  educational 
department,  where  he  showed  decided  admin- 
istrative ability. 

At  last  the  fourth  J une  of  his  course  arrived, 
and  amid  all  the  festivities  of  commencement 
week,  Theodore  and  John  were  graduated. 


62 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


The  personal  hold  which  Theodore  had  upon 
his  classmates  is  expressed  in  this  sentence 
from  one  of  them : <(There  is  not  a fellow  in 
the  class  who  would  be  missed  so  much  by  the 
zvhole  class  to  a man  as  old  ( T 1 Miller.”1 

He  stood  among  his  fellows  for  a group  of 
manly  virtues,  which  made  their  life  in  com- 
mon richer  and  better.  He  was  in  a sense 


The  Fence,  Yale  Campus 


typical  of  the  student  tradition  of  old  Yale. 
He  was  loyal  to  the  corporate  interests  of  the 
University  body.  He  believed  in  working  with 
others  for  a common  end.  He  combined  per- 
sonal initiative  with  subordination  to  the  larger 
welfare.  He  was  optimistic,  with  joy  in 
doing  and  will  to  accomplish.  His  services 

1 From  a letter  of  C.  M.  Fincke,  Oct.  5,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


63 


to  his  classmates  could  not  be  put  in  better 
words  than  these : — 

<(Work  was  easier  when  <T>  worked  with  you  and 
brought  his  happiness  and  buoyancy  into  it.  Pleasures 
gave  more  enjoyment  when  one  saw  how  thoroughly  he 
entered  into  them.  It  was  a good  thing  to  be  in  his 
company.  The  soul  of  goodness  himself,  one  always 
felt  that  he  judged  you  more  charitably  than  most  men. 
Others  were  more  clever  and  gifted;  none  I think  had 
fewer  faults.  He  was  a true  Christian  and  a warm, 
whole-hearted  friend. B 1 


From  a letter  of  H.  S.  Coffin,  Sept,  20,  1898. 


CHAPTER  IV 


It  seems  to  have  been  settled  early  in 
Theodore’s  college  course  that  he  was  to  study 
for  the  bar.  In  a letter  to  his  father  in  1894, 
he  declares  his  intention  to  regard  the  plan  as 
finally  fixed  upon.  In  the  autumn  of  1897  he 
entered  the  New  York  Law  School.  He  also 
secured  a place  as  clerk  in  the  offices  of  a 
prominent  legal  firm.  At  the  same  time,  John 
Miller,  who  had  chosen  the  profession  of  me- 
chanical engineering,  entered  the  graduate  de- 
partment of  Cornell.  This,  the  first  serious 
separation  of  their  lives,  was  keenly  felt  by 
both  of  the  brothers. 

Theodore,  together  with  three  Yale  class- 
mates, set  up  housekeeping  in  an  apartment 
which  was  whimsically  dubbed  “Poverty  Flat.  ® 
Two  of  the  men  were  studying  medicine ; two 
had  entered  the  law  courses.  Here,  in  the 
midst  of  the  metropolis,  was  established  a bit  of 
the  old  Yale  life.  <(  Poverty  Flat  was  the  resort 
of  many  ’97  men  who  either  came  to  town,  or 
were  living  in  the  city.  Theodore  was,  as  usual, 
a source  of  cheer  and  enthusiasm.  Although 


Tlu'odorc  Westwood  Miller  6j 

working-  hard  himself,  he  had  plenty  of  energy 
to  share  with  his  comrades. 

“Many  a dark,  cheerless  afternoon,  when  grinding 
away  on  our  books,  our  brains  tired  with  a hard  day’s 
work,  we  have  heard  his  well-known  footsteps  on  the 
stairs,  the  key  turn  in  the  lock,  and  he  comes  in,  bring- 
ing sunshine  and  cheerfulness  with  him.  (Come  on,  fel- 
lows, shut  up  your  books.  Let’s  get  out  for  a walk,  and 
then  get  something  to  eatd  He  was  tired  by  his  day’s 
work  and  a hard  afternoon  spent  in  the  law  library,  but 
he  knew  what  we  needed,  and  his  cheerful  spirit  could 
respond  to  any  calls  he  made  on  it. » 1 

The  dwellers  in  “Poverty  Flat,”  however, 
were  not  altogether  given  over  to  study.  They 
found  time  for  social  pleasures,  and  were  much 
sought  by  friends  and  classmates  who  lived  in 
New  York  and  its  suburbs.  Theodore’s  scrap 
book  contains  invitations  to  dinners,  recep- 
tions, and  other  agreeable  affairs.  A quar- 
tette was  formed  early  in  the  winter.  There 
are  a number  of  notes  urging  Theodore  to 
bring  his  friends  for  an  informal  “sing,”  or 
to  take  part  in  a musical  programme.  Now 
and  then  the  men,  singly  or  in  small  groups, 
would  run  up  to  New  Haven.  In  these  visits 
there  was  a tinge  of  sadness.  The  recent 
graduates  realized  that  others  had  taken  their 
places;  that  the  great  stream  of  Yale  life  was 
sweeping  on  without  them. 

1 From  a letter  of  James  R.  Judd,  October,  1898. 

5 


66 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


But  all  these  recreations  were  sternly  sub- 
ordinated to  the  main  purposes  which  the  men 
had  in  mind.  Theodore,  always  of  methodical 
habits,  arranged  his  work  in  a schedule  to 
which  he  adhered  with  conscientious  fidelity. 
Near  the  end  of  the  year,  in  May,  when  the 
war  excitement  was  at  its  height,  he  writes 
home  that  he  has  not  (<  taken  a single  cut 
throughout  the  year,”  although  he  owns  that 
thoughts  of  enlistment  and  active  service  had 
more  or  less  distracted  his  mind.  His  sys- 
tematic methods  were  illustrated  in  many  of  the 
details  of  his  life.  The  letters  he  received,  for 
example,  were  carefully  sorted  and  docketed, 
and  his  scrap-books,  kept  continuously  from  his 
high  school  days  in  Akron  to  the  time  of  his 
enlistment,  preserve  in  chronological  order 
many  significant  mementos. 

At  the  outset  the  duties  of  the  young  law 
clerk  naturally  did  not  demand  great  legal 
knowledge.  Theodore  was  chiefly  employed  in 
collecting  bills.  The  routine  of  this  not  alto- 
gether agreeable  work  was  broken  for  the  first 
time  when  he  was  sent  to  represent  the  office 
in  court.  His  simple  duty  was  to  rise  when 
the  case  was  called  and  to  inform  the  judge 
that  at  the  appointed  time  the  firm  would  ap- 
pear for  the  defendant.  Theodore’s  account  of 
the  experience  is  amusing.  He  was  so  filled 
with  anxiety  lest  he  should  get  into  the  wrong 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


67 


court,  or  fail  to  rise  at  just  the  right  moment, 
that  he  was  much  perturbed.  When  the  time 
came,  he  sprung  up  with  promptness,  repeated 
his  formula,  and  then,  lest  he  should  fail  in 
any  respect,  he  remained  standing  through 
several  other  routine  matters,  to  the  consider- 
able amusement  of  the  officials.  It  was  with 
genuine  relief  that  he  saw  the  court  adjourn, 
and  knew  that  there  was  nothing  more  for 
him  to  do. 

Theodore  was  always  on  the  lookout  for  new 
experiences,  and  eager  to  take  advantage  of 
opportunities.  An  illustration  of  his  keenness 
for  this  sort  of  thing  is  found  in  his  answer- 
ing an  advertisement  for  a man  to  circulate 
a petition.  He  got  the  position.  It  seems 
that  something  connected  with  pharmacies  was 
at  issue,  and  the  signatures  of  druggists  were 
desired.  Theodore  was  paid  a few  cents  for 
every  name  which  he  secured.  He  seems  to 
have  enjoyed  the  experience  greatly.  In  one 
case  he  encountered  an  irascible  druggist,  who 
would  not  even  listen  to  a statement  of  the 
case,  but  when  Theodore  persisted,  called  in  a 
policeman.  The  situation  was  explained  to  the 
officer,  and  the  druggist  was  in  some  measure 
mollified,  though  the  solicitor’s  most  persuasive 
tones  failed  to  secure  the  desired  signature. 

Theodore’s  fondness  for  children  has  already 
been  noted.  During  this  winter  one  of  his 


68 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


chief  pleasures  was  to  have  his  niece  and 
nephew,  the  children  of  his  sister  Mina,  come 
into  the  city  as  his  guests.  He  would  take 
them  about  to  see  the  sights.  They  visited  the 
museums  and  art  galleries,  the  Brooklyn  bridge, 
and  the  statue  of  Liberty.  In  all  these  ex- 
cursions Theodore  seemed  fully  to  share  the 
delight  of  his  little  proteges. 


As  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edison 


lived  in  Orange,  it  was 


only  natural  that 
Theodore  should 
spend  frequent 


Sundays  with  his 
sister.  On  his 
birthday  all  the 
inmates  of  “ Pov- 


erty Flat ® were  in- 
vited to  Glenmont  for 
a celebration.  Theo- 
dore was  charmed  with 
everything,  and  showed 


Glenmont,  Llewellyn  Park, 
Residence  of  Mr.  Thomas  A.  Edison 


his  friends  about  in  his  enthusiastic  way.  He 
prepared  an  elaborate  programme  for  their 
entertainment,  one  item, — hot  baths  for  the 
company, — being  suggested  by  the  single  tub 
and  the  cold  water  of  “ Poverty  Flat.® 

The  hospitality  of  the  “Flat®  quite  overflowed 
its  physical  limitations.  Many  a night  Theo- 
dore would  sleep  on  the  lounge  or  even  on  the 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


6g 


floor,  in  order  to  make  room  for  a welcome 
classmate  or  two  from  out  of  town.  His  un- 
selfishness and  thought  for  others  were  always 
finding  new  expression. 

An  anecdote  from  Mina  shows  Theodore  in  a 
character  wholly  familiar  to  those  who  knew 
him.  He  was  walking  with  the  children  in 
Orange  one  afternoon,  when  he  saw  an  old  man 
making  a vain  attempt  to  put  out  a fire  which 
had  caught  in  some  leaves  and  was  spreading 
rapidly.  In  a moment  Theodore’s  coat  was  off, 
and  he  had  rushed  to  the  aid  of  the  baffled  old 
gardener.  A few  minutes  of  quick  work  served 
to  isolate  the  burning  leaves  and  to  extinguish 
the  fire. 

The  winter  passed  quickly,  and  in  spite  of 
hard  work  it  passed  pleasantly.  Theodore  was 
conscious  that  he  was  making  steady  progress 
in  his  studies,  and  was  filled  with  quiet  satis- 
faction. He  was  greatly  pleased  by  his  election 
to  the  Dwight  Law  Club,  a group  to  which  only 
the  best  type  of  men  in  the  Law  School  are  ad- 
mitted. The  final  examinations  at  the  close  of 
the  year  were  passed  with  honors. 

In  the  spring  came  rumors  of  war,  the  long 
period  of  negotiation,  and  finally  the  outbreak 
of  hostilities.  It  is  easy  to  understand  why 
Theodore  from  the  very  first  felt  a strong  im- 
pulse to  enlist.  His  motives  were  naturally 
complex.  In  the  long  discussions  with  friends 


7o 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


over  the  matter  he  expressed  most  forcibly  his 
belief  that  the  educated  young  men  of  the 
country  ought  to  show  their  loyalty  by  a ready 
response  to  the  President’s  call.  At  the  same 
time  he  did  not  conceal  his  eagerness  for  the 
excitement  of  campaigning.  The  idea  of  in- 


The  Dwight  Law  Club 


vading  Cuba  appealed  to  his  spirit  of  adven- 
ture, as  well  as  to  his  conscious  loyalty  to 
country. 

When  he  discovered  that,  unless  he  remained 
to  the  end  of  the  year,  he  would  lose  all  credit 
for  his  Law  course,  Theodore  felt  that  he  was 
not  justified  in  making  this  sacrifice  until  there 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


7i 


seemed  to  be  a more  pressing  need  for 
volunteers.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to  await 
the  second  call.  Extracts  from  his  letters 
written  during  this  period  give  the  best  im- 
pression of  his  point  of  view  and  of  his 
motives.  It  is  very  clear  that  he  was  eager 
for  active  service.  In  a letter  of  April  20th 
he  writes : — 

(<I  was  mighty  glad  to  get  Father’s  letter  expressing 
his  approval  of  my  enlisting,  and  hope  that  I may  be 
of  some  active  service  somewhere.  This  is  the  diffi- 
culty in  enlisting  at  a regular  station,  and  as  early  as 
this,  for  undoubtedly  the  first  volunteers  will  be  sent 
to  some  fortification  and  there  remain  during  the  whole 
war,  if  it  lasts  a short  time,  which  I feel  certain  it 
will.  Now,  what  I want  to  do  is  to  get  into  the  < scrap, > 
and  be  able  to  do  something  worth  doing.  I may  be 
too  eager  and  ambitious,  but  that  is  what  1 want  to 
do.  . . . This  has  always  been  a dream  of  my 
life,  and  now  that  America  is  about  to  engage  in  war, 
and  there  is  a possibility  of  my  getting  into  it,  it  seems 
still  a dream  for  me  to  realize.” 

But  mere  daring  and  eagerness  for  the  life  of 
field  and  camp  were  subordinate  to  a higher 
motive.  Theodore’s  reply  to  a letter  of  entreaty 
from  his  mother,  re-enforced  by  a plea  from 
Mary,  is  full  of  tenderness,  and  yet  breathes 
the  spirit  of  patriotism. 

<( I hope  you  will  believe  me,”  he  writes,  (<when  I 
say  that  I love  you  most  of  all,  and  would  give  almost 


7- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


anything  to  be  there  at  home  now  to  kiss  you  and 
talk  this  over  with  you.  It  is  very  hard  to  argue  a 
question  of  this  sort  and  I can’t  say  anything  in  con- 
tradiction to  your  desire  for  me  to  stay.  For  I would 
stay  if  I thought  it  was  my  duty  not  to  go.  There  are 
lots  of  men  who  could  go  without  missing  much  work, 
but  there  are  very  few  who  could  go  without  leaving 
some  loving  friends  behind.  If  everybody  excused 
himself  for  selfish  reasons,  we  could  have  no  army. 
Patriotism  must  control  and  love  of  country  prevail.”1 


Mr.  Miller  seems  at  first  to  have  suggested 
the  Navy,  and  one  letter  mentions  a place  on  the 
Yale  as  a possibility.  Now  follow  many  eager 
plans  for  enlistment.  Charles  Hemenway — one 
of  the  a Poverty  Flat  ® group  — returned  to  Ver- 
mont and  there  entered  the  service.  For  a few 
days  Theodore  thought  of  joining  the  same  com- 
pany, in  which  a place  was  kept  for  him,  hut 
this  idea  was  soon  abandoned.  Meantime  the 
friends  at  Akron  had  heard  of  a position  which 
could  be  secured  for  Theodore.  He  was  imme- 
diately notified  by  telegram  to  see  the  Quarter- 
master General  on  Governor’s  Island.  After 
a long  search  he  obtained  an  interview  with 
the  officer,  and  learned  that  the  position  in 
question  was  practically  a clerkship  in  the 
commissary  department.  This  by  no  means 
appealed  to  Theodore,  and  he  politely  de- 


Letter  from  Theodore  to  his  mother,  April  26th,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  yj 

dined  the  position  on  the  ground  that  he 
wanted  to  see  active  service. 

During  this  time  the  organization  of  the 
(<  Rough  Riders’  w regiment  was  attracting  wide 
attention.  <(  Dade  w Goodrich,  Theodore’s  old- 
time  playmate,  had  enlisted  with  this  force,  and 
many  Yale  and  Harvard  men,  several  of  them 
friends  of  Theodore,  had  been  admitted  to  the 
various  troops.  In  a letter  of  May  15th  Theo- 
dore mentions  these  facts,  and  expresses  the 
wish  that  he  might  have  a chance  like  this.  His 
desire  to  enter  the  army  was  greatly  increased 
by  a visit  he  paid  to  Camp  Black,  which  he  de- 
scribes in  enthusiastic  terms  in  a letter  of  May 
23rd. 

On  May  26th  Mr.  Marvin  met  Theodore  in 
New  York,  and  in  the  course  of  conversation 
concerning  the  burning  topic  of  enlistment 
suggested  telegraphing  to  (<  Dade w Goodrich, 
who  was  in  Texas  with  the  (<  Rough  Riders. w 
An  immediate  reply  from  Goodrich  brought  the 
news  that  a place  was  open  for  Theodore  in  the 
regiment,  and  that,  if  he  came  at  once,  he  could 
secure  the  vacancy.  This  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem filled  Theodore  with  delight.  The  oppor- 
tunity in  every  way  satisfied  him.  He  could 
reasonably  count  on  active  service,  and  that  in 
company  with  some  of  his  best  friends.  The 
consent  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Miller  was  immediately 
secured,  and  plans  were  made  for  instant  de- 


74 


Theodorc  Westwood  Miller 


parture.  Theodore’s  letter  to  his  mother, 
dated  May  28th,  gives  his  point  of  view:  — 

Orange,  N.  J.,  May  28,  1898. 
My  Darling  Mother:  — 

The  second  call  has  been  made  and  I should  answer 
it.  There  could  be  no  better  place  than  where  I am 
going,  for  this  regiment  is  made  up  of  the  finest  fellows 
in  the  country  and  I have  several  friends  with  it. 

Dade  Goodrich  was  mighty  good  to  find  the  opening 
for  me,  and  1 owe  him  a great  deal.  He  is  a fine  fellow, 
and  our  knowing  each  other  so  well  will  be  a great  sat- 
isfaction to  us  both  and  to  you  people  at  home.  . . 

I told  Mr.  Marvin  that  I was  going  to  enlist  some 
place.  He  suggested  that  I go  with  the  Rough  Riders 
Regiment ; so  we  telegraphed  to  « Dade  » to  find  out  if 
there  was  any  possible  opening.  He  answered  the  next 
morning,  « Come  immediately.  Have  place  for  you  here 
at  once.)) 

I wish  I could  stop  off  to  see  you  in  Akron.  That  is 
impossible  without  losing  a whole  day,  and  I am  afraid 
that  would  make  me  too  late.  It  would  be  very  unsatis- 
factory for  us  to  see  each  other  just  a moment,  and  now 
we  will  not  have  to  say  good  bye  and  endure  the  sorrow 
of  parting.  Darling,  I think  I am  doing  my  duty  and 
trust  that  you  will  agree  with  me. 

My  train  leaves  right  away,  so  I must  close,  darling. 

. Love  beyond  expression  from  a loving  son, 

Theodore. 

Goodbye. 

Mr.  Miller  joined  Theodore  at  Cleveland,  and 
together  they  traveled  westward,  telegraphing 
frequently  to  make  sure  of  the  route  of  the 


Theodore  Westzvood  JMiller 


75 


“Rough  Riders.”  From  this  point  the  nar- 
rative is  taken  up  by  Theodore  in  his  diary, 
which  forms  the  three  following  chapters. 

John  Miller,  within  a short  time  after  Theo- 
dore’s enlistment,  was  admitted  to  the  Navy  as 
ensign.  He  was  assigned  first  to  the  Marble- 
head. Later  he  was  transferred  to  the  Vulcan , 
which  lay  in  Guantanamo  Bay  throughout  the 
Santiago  campaign.  The  brothers,  although 
comparatively  near  each  other,  never  met. 


The  Diary 


CHAPTER  V1 


The  Regiment  was  organized  tinder  the  su- 
pervision and  at  the  suggestion  of  Roosevelt, 
who  forfeited  his  position  as  Ass’t  Sec’y  of 
Navy  in  the  Cabinet,  and  accepted  the  rank 
of  Lieut.  Col.  of  this  Regiment,  with  his 
friend,  a physician  from  the  West,  Leo- 
nard Wood,  as  Col.  The  first  enlistments 
were  made  about  the  first  of  May,  and  men 
from  Arizona,  Oklahoma,  Texas,  New  Mexico 
and  Indian  Territory  were  sworn  in  about 
the  fourth  of  May;  and  the  next  day  the 
men  from  Harvard  and  the  East  joined  the 
Regiment  at  San  Antonio,  Texas.  The  men 
were  equipped  and  partially  trained  while  in 
camp,  and  the  regiment  of  raw  recruits  was 
transformed  into  a body  of  troops  in  regi- 
mental form  and  equipment.  Goodrich  was 


1 This  and  the  following  chapters,  VI  and  VII,  are  repro- 
duced from  the  diary  which  Theodore  kept  from  the  time  of  his 
enlistment  to  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  he  was  wounded. 
The  narrative  was  written  in  pencil  in  a small  note-book.  Only 
slight  and  unimportant  changes  have  been  made  by  the  editor. 
Certain  omissions  have  been  indicated  by  asterisks.  The  manu- 
script is  very  clear.  It  is  singularly  free  from  erasures  and  cor- 
rections. The  abbreviations  and  frequent  ellipses  are  only 
natural  in  the  circumstances. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


77 


made  2nd  Lieut,  in  Troop  D.  Horses  were  as- 
signed, and  all  officers  appointed.  The  camp 
at  San  Antonio  broke  up  Sunday,  May  29th, 
and  the  Regiment  started  for  Tampa,  Florida, 
on  that  day. 

On  Thursday,  May  26th,  Richard  came  to 
N.  Y.  C.  and  asked  Bill  Judd,  Bill  Darrach  and 
me  to  breakfast  at  Holland  House  with  him. 
This  was  the  day  after  second 
call  for  troops;  and  as  I had 
decided  to  wait  only  that  long, 
and  thereby  give  me  time  to 
complete  my  year  at  Law 
School,  I needed  only  this 
call  to  make  me  go.  Richard 
suggested,  at  breakfast,  my 
joining  the  Rough  Riders; 
so  we  telegraphed  to  Dade 
Goodrich.  That  night  I went 
to  New  Haven  for  <(  Slap 
Day,”  and  on  my  return  Fri- 
day morning,  found  message 
from  Dade,  saying  that  there  was  a place  for 
me  at  once.  I lunched  with  Richard,  Mina 
and  Grace  at  the  Normandie,  and  then 
hustled  about,  telegraphing,  writing,  pur- 
chasing tickets,  packing,  etc.  Finished  at 
about  nine  o’clock  P.  M. , and  then,  with  Char- 
lie Hemenway,  who  accompanied  me  as  far 
as  Jersey  City,  went  to  Orange.  Rode  horse- 


Col.  Wood 


j 8 Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

back  before  and  after  breakfast  at  Mina’s,  and 
left  about  eleven  for  New  York,  to  take  N. 
Y.  Central  for  San  Antonio.  Richard  and 
Grace  saw  me  off;  and  I met  some  man  on 
train  who  said  that  Bob  Wrenn  was  to  leave 
for  New  Orleans  directly  that  P.  M.  I tele- 
graphed Dade  from  Poughkeepsie,  and  went  on 
to  San  Antonio.  Father  and  Ed.  met  me  in 
Cleveland,  and  father  joined  me  on  my  trip. 
At  St.  Louis  the  Koenig  boys,  with  their 
father,  were  down  to  meet  us;  and  we  took 
supper  and  I made  my  will  there.  Left  St. 
Louis  after  an  hour,  and  took  the  Iron  Moun- 
tain Route  for  San  Antonio,  but  rumors  and 
papers  led  us  to  think  that  the  Regiment  had 
left  San  Antonio;  so  we  telegraphed  at  Hous- 
ton, and  received  word  at  Marshall,  Texas,  that 
the  Regiment  had  passed  through  Houston  en 
route  for  Tampa.  I had  forty  minutes  wait, 
so  bade  farewell  to  father,  who  went  on  to 
Dallas,  Texas.  I exchanged  my  ticket  for  San 
Antonio  for  one  to  New  Orleans,  with  85  cents 
to  boot;  and,  after  a shave,  shampoo  and  gen- 
eral refreshing,  took  the  train  for  the  southern 
metropolis.  My  anxiety  was  at  its  height  all 
night,  and  it  was  a chase  for  a prize  I greatly 
coveted.  Arrived  at  New  Orleans  at  about 
nine  o’clock,  crossed  the  ferry,  and  hurried  by 
cab  to  the  place  where  I had  learned  the  Rough 
Riders  had  arrived.  I almost  yelled  for  joy 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


79 


when  I saw  the  yellow  canvas  suits,  and  the 
soldierly  appearance  of  many  men  getting  on 
and  off  cars,  for  I felt  sure  I had  caught  the 
Rough  Riders;  for  they  can’t  beat  the  loco- 
motive, if  they  can  ride  a horse.  I pushed 
about,  feeling  greatly 
out  of  place,  and  ap- 


pearing much  more 
so,  on  account  of  my 
civilian  garb,  looking 
for  Dade.  Ran  across 
Jerry  Gerard,  whom 
I scarcely  recognized, 
and  he  showed  me 
how  to  find  Goodrich. 
Soon  ran  across  him, 
h urrying  about  on 
very  important  mis- 
sion. I supposed;  but 
he  seemed  glad  to  see 
me,  and  looked  up 
officers  and  intro- 


Lieut.-Col.  Roosevelt 


- ~ LICUI.-UUL.  nuuotvtu 

dueed  me  to  Capt. 

O’Neil  and  Lieut.  Frances.  He  finally  got 
permission  to  have  me  examined,  and,  if  sat- 
isfactory, to  allow  me  to  join  the  Regiment  en 
route,  to  await  formal  enlistment  at  Tampa.  I 
was  examined  by  Chief  Surgeon  La  Motte,  in  the 
smoking  compartment  of  the  officers’  sleeper; 
and  after  a very  easy  examination,  my  physi- 


8o 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


cal  condition  and  requirements  were  found  sat- 
isfactory. Then  I went  with  Dade  to  the  bag- 
gage car,  the  only  place  which  could  be  found 
for  me.  He  introduced  me  to  Holt  and  Wills; 
and  I soon  became  acquainted  with  Burgess, 
Love  and  Serg.  Hunter.  The  place  assigned 
me  proved  to  be  the  hospital  car,  and  I was  ex- 
ceedingly lucky  to  get  there,  for  the  other  cars 
were  ordinary  day  coaches,  and  the  men  slept 
curled  up  on  two  seats,  with  two  men  in  each 
set.  This  car  of  mine  was  also  the  Com- 
missary Department  for  Troop  D.,  so  we  man- 
aged to  get  all  we  wanted  to  eat  — as  far  as 
quantity,  at  least,  went. 

My  impressions  of  New  Orleans  were  any- 
thing but  what  I had  looked  for,  but  must  con- 
fess my  observation  extended  over  a very 
limited  space.  We  left  shortly  after  noon;  and 
I found  traveling  in  a baggage  car  in  civilian’s 
clothes,  with  a dress-suit  case  and  a derby  hat, 
not  so  very  comfortable;  but  upon  further 
acquaintance  with  the  men,  and  after  throwing 
off  unnecessary  clothes,  I got  along  nicely. 
The  large  door  in  the  car  furnished  a splendid 
window  for  view  and  ventilation;  so  we  felt 
quite  fortunate  as  compared  with  the  men  in 
day  coaches.  I soon  discovered  an  old  friend 
in  Troop  A.  end  of  car — Hollister1  of  Har- 

1 Hollister  died  at  Fortress  Monroe  as  a result  of  wounds 
received  in  battle. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


81 


vard  — and  we  soon  struck  up  quite  a joll. 
Before  we  left  New  Orleans,  Teddy  Burke,  Bob 
Wrenn  and  Bill  Larned  appeared  on  the  scene, 
and  we  were  all  on  the  anxious  seat  until 
assigned.  Teddy  Burke  knew  me  before,  so 
we  met  in  good  shape,  and  he  introduced  me 
to  Wrenn  and  Larned. 1 Companions  by  neces- 
sity, we  soon  became  acquainted,  and  finally 
found  that  Bob  Wrenn  was  to  come  into  my 
car,  and  Teddy  Burke  and  Larned  went  into 
D.  Troop  car.  Our  first  stop  was  Mobile,  where 
a great  crowd  greeted  us;  and  most  everybody 
got  off  the  train  and  bought  about  everything 
in  sight.  We  telegraphed  a combination  mes- 
sage, Teddy  and  I,  to  Orange,  and  I sent  one 
to  father.  Saw  Garrison  there  for  first  time, 
and  hardly  recognized  him  with  his  shaven 
head.  This  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  after 
leaving  we  soon  began  to  fix  for  bed.  Some 
of  the  men,  Guy  Murchie  and  Hollister,  were 
on  guard;  so  Bob  Wrenn  and  I sat  up  until 
eleven,  with  our  feet  hanging  out  of  the  door. 
Singing  and  talking  helped  along  the  time ; 
and  we  felt  (<  out  of  sight  ® to  have  at  last 

1 With  Eddie  Burke  and  Will  Lamed  we  made  up  a four 
that  were  constantly  together.  Scarcely  an  evening  passed 
that  we  did  not  meet  to  talk  over  new  experiences,  or  pos- 
sibly share  some  extra  rations ; it  was  in  this  way  that  we 
learned  to  know  your  son  so  well,  and  to  admire  him  for  his 
unfailing  cheerfulness  and  generosity. — Letter  to  Air.  Aliller 
from  Robert  Wrenn. 


82 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


become  even  connected  with  the  Regiment. 
Soon  we  turned  in,  and  I found  a bunk  on  the 
top  of  a lot  of  saddles,  close  to  the  top  of  the 
car,  which  place,  comfortable  enough  at  first, 
became  more  and  more  rocky  and  bumpy  as  the 
night  advanced  and  the  novelty  wore  off. 

We  stopped  at  Pensacola  that  night,  but 
could  see  nothing  of  the  city.  Our  next  long 
stop  was  at  Tallahassee,  where  they  watered 
the  horses;  and  we  stopped  from  noon  until 
about  five  o’clock.  Our  Troop  cooked  dinner 
under  a tree,  and  two  of  the  men  caught  a 
chicken,  and  later  a man  named  Stewart  caught 
a rooster.  They  picked  them,  and  all  I saw  of 
the  result  was  some  chicken  broth  for  the  hos- 
pital patients  in  our  car.  Troop  A.  caught  a 
small  pig,  and  another  Troop  had  a goose. 
Holt  and  I purchased  some  very  good  milk,  and 
that,  with  the  army  rations  of  hard  tack,  toma- 
toes and  a potato  apiece,  made  a good  meal. 
We  had  our  first  good  wash  in  a brook  near  the 
track,  and  it  did  certainly  feel  good.  The 
coons  were  thick,  and  we  made  them  sing  and 
dance  for  us  at  the  station.  We  later  raided  a 
bottling  shop,  and  had  some  fine  ginger  ale 
with  Col.  Wood  and  another  officer.  The 
Mayor  of  the  town  was  very  anxious  to  have 
the  Regiment  stop  off  there  for  camp,  and 
offered  all  sorts  of  inducements;  but  after  the 
horses  were  watered  and  fed,  and  all  was  ready, 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  8j 

we  pushed  on.  Saw  the  camp  as  we  passed 
out,  and  it  was  quite  a respectable  place. 
Great  many  soldiers  were  there,  and  all 
cheered  as  we  went  by.  We  traveled  on 
through  Florida,  and  at  a point  20  miles  west 
of  Jacksonville  turned  directly  south.  Reached 
Dade  City  about  noon  the  next  day,  and  there 
we  four  men  got  together  and  had  a fine  little 
dinner  at  a little  country  hotel.  The  officers 
were  eating  in  the  dining  room,  and  we  had 
ours  served  on  the  porch.  The  proprietor 
gave  me  a pipe  as  a souvenir.  Every  meal  we 
took  outside  the  train  we  thought  would  be 
our  last,  so  we  simply  chucked  the  food  away 
for  fair.  We  went  down  to  the  village  and 
bought  some  things,  and  I wrote  my  first  letter 
while  we  waited.  Soon  the  train  started  and 
we  scrambled  aboard,  and  went  down  about  two 
miles  to  a water  tank.  While  the  horse  detail 
watered  and  fed  the  horses,  the  different  troops 
separated  and  cooked  their  dinners  in  the 
woods  close  by.  It  was  a very  pretty  place, 
and  the  men  took  good  advantage  of  it  for  a 
stretch  out.  I continued  writing  my  letter 
while  there,  and  afterwards  went  to  the  tank 
to  have  a wash  up.  Here  I found  a lot  of  fel- 
lows on  top  the  train,  passing  buckets  in  lines 
from  the  tank  spout,  to  be  poured  into  the 
car  troughs.  Garrison  was  up  on  top  filling 
buckets  as  they  were  passed  to  him,  and  was 


84 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


simply  drenched  with  water.  All  the  Eastern 
boys  pitched  in  like  beavers  to  work,  and 
seemed  better  able  than  most  of  the  Western- 
ers. We  new  men  not  yet  enlisted  were  strictly 
ignoramuses  and  steered  clear  of  any  work  until 
we  learned  something.  This  proved  lucky  for 
me,  for  I was  very  soft  when  I struck  the  gang, 
and  could  not  stand  very  much  hard  work  any- 
way. At  this  place  we  got  very  well  braced  up 
after  our  journey,  and  proceeded  to  Tampa. 
Arrived  in  the  outskirts  after  a good  deal  of 
switching,  and  finally  pulled  in  near  town. 
Bob  Wrenn  and  I waited  on  the  train  for  Teddy 
and  Bill,  but  finally  decided  to  push  up  town, 
it  then  being  about  8:30  P.  M.  We  found  a 
hotel,  but  were  too  late  for  supper;  so  went  to 
a little  restaurant  and  washed,  while  waiting 
for  our  dinner.  It  was  a dandy , comparatively 
speaking,  and  we  did  certainly  enjoy  it  and  ate 
our  fill.  Bought  a few  things  at  a drug  store, 
and  started  back  for  the  train ; but  when  we  ar- 
rived, found  only  the  horse  train  switching 
about,  and  learned  from  a burly  packer  that  it 
would  not  go  to  the  camp  until  about  one 
o’clock;  so,  after  some  hesitation  and  a long 
joll,  we  decided  to  spend  the  night  at  the  El- 
mira. Here  we  had  a bath,  and  just  before 
sleep,  a beer  in  two  pitchers,  which  certainly 
put  us  on  our  feet.  Got  up  next  morning  at 
five.  Had  coffee  at  our  restaurant,  and  took 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  85 

street  car  for  place  of  temporary  camp,  arriv- 
ing just  at  breakfast  time.  We  were  scared 
lest  we  should  (<  queer  ® ourselves  for  shyster- 
ing;  but  no  one  complained,  and  most  of  them 
envied  us.  Later  we  found  that  Teddy  and 
Bill  had  gone  to  the  same  restaurant  about 
fifteen  minutes  later  than 
we,  the  night  before,  and 
then  put  up  at  the  Tampa 
Bay  Hotel.  We  waited 
until  all  had  saddled,  and 
the  troops  had  prepared  to 
leave  for  the  permanent 
camp.  They  had  several 
horses  left  over,  so  we  took 
a horse  apiece  to  lead,  and 
after  several  breaks  in  sad- 
dling, and  after  losing  my 
horse  by  taking  off  the 
halter  (a  thing  they  never 
do),  causing  the  loss  of 
the  horse’s  forelock,  we 
mounted  and  rode  away.  We,  the  stragglers, 
stopped  at  a Cuban  house,  and  Serg.  Randolph 
talked  Cuban  to  them.  There  was  quite  a settle- 
ment of  emigrated  Cubans.  Our  Serg.  made  a 
mistake  after  passing  through  the  town,  and  we 
went  to  the  wrong  camp,  so  retraced  our  steps 
and  hurried  to  town.  Bob  and  I rode  to- 
gether, and  it  was  my  first  army  duty  of  any 


Lieut.  Goodrich 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


86 

importance,  except  a mission  I was  sent  on  at 
Dade  City  by  our  Capt.  Huston.  Bob  and  I 
recognized  several  buildings  and  things  we  had 
seen  the  night  before,  and  it  seemed  like  an 
old  acquaintance.  We  passed  on,  crossed  the 
bridge  and  rode  by  the  Tampa  Bay  Hotel,  and, 
just  as  we  passed  the  entrance,  Richard  H. 
Davis  and  Caspar  Whitney  came  out,  and  rec- 
ognizing Bob,  let  out  a great  yell.  Bob  knows 
them  both  very  well.  After  five  mile  ride  we 
arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  the  camp.  Our 
squad  was  met  by  Lieut.  Goodrich  and  others, 
mounted,  one  of  whom,  by  name  Page,  dis- 
mounted, and  transferred  his  saddle  from  his 
to  one  of  our  extra  horses,  and  we  all  enjoyed 
a Wild  West  Show  rough  riding.  He  was 
thrown  and  the  horse  ran  away ; so  all  put  after 
him.  He  was  captured  and  finally  con- 
quered, and  ridden  by  Page  back  to  camp. 
This  put  Bob  and  me  in  fear  of  death,  and 
caused  us  to  congratulate  ourselves  that  we  had 
not  happened  to  get  that  horse,  instead  of  the 
ones  we  rode.  Going  a little  farther,  crossing 
the  railroad  and  passing  several  camps,  we  ar- 
rived at  our  destination  at  Camp  Tampa.  Dis- 
mounting and  unsaddling,  we  arranged  our 
horses  along  picket  line,  and  held  them  for  an 
hour  or  so  in  the  hot  sun. 

Our  trip  from  New  Orleans  to  Tampa  was 
one  so  crowded  with  amusing,  and  some  pain- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


87 


ful  incidents,  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
recount  them  all;  but  I must  not  forget  to  men- 
tion the  Troop  A.  mascot,  which  formed  the 
great  attraction  along  the  way.  An  Arizona 
man  brought  a young  (3  months)  Mountain 
Lion  with  him  to  San  Antonio,  and  the  Troop 
caged  him  and  adopted  him  as  their  mascot. 
He  was  a vicious  little  beast,  with  immense 
paws  and  a cat-like  head,  and  long  tail.  The 
men  had  him  pretty  well  tamed  to  them,  but 
he  would  not  stand  a stranger,  or  any  teasing. 
Teddy  Burke  came  up  in  our  car  one  night  and 
slept  between  this  beast  and  a negro.  Cuba, 
a dog  that  the  same  Troop  captured  by  the 
way,  became  a great  friend  of  Josephine  (the 
M.  L.),  and  they  played  together  to  the  enter- 
tainment of  all  spectators,  and  for  their  own 
amusement  also.  My  first  impressions  of 
two  other  characters  were  rare.  One  was 
Cassi,  the  troop  Bugler,  a fine  looking  fellow, 
and  a great  character.  A typical  modern  ad- 
venturer. He  has  been  in  about  every  country 
in  the  world,  and  has  mixtures  of  French, 
Spanish  and  Mexican  blood  in  him.  He  was 
leader  of  a band  at  Jerome  when  the  Regiment 
was  organized ; so  enlisted  from  there.  (<  Old 
Doc,"  too,  was  a unique  character,  a fat, 
bright-eyed  reprobate,  dissipated  but  good- 
natured,  and  a perfect  freak.  The  mascots 
were  the  great  attraction  for  the  ladies  and 


88 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


children,  and  they  simply  flocked  about  the 
car.  At  some  stations  they  would  have  (<  Cuba  ® 
up  too,  and  the  two  together  made  things  very 
lively  and  interesting  for  our  visitors. 

The  journey  through  Alabama  was  quite  in- 
teresting, and  the  country  showed  quite  a civi- 
lized and  cultivated  tone;  but  excuse  me  from 
Florida  country.  Palmetto  and  high-topped 
trees,  with  an  abundance  of  air-moss,  was  the 
only  vegetation.  A few  spattering  attempts  at 
farms  made  us  realize  that  we  were  in  an  in- 
habited country;  but,  aside  from  a bit  of  to- 
bacco, and  a few  thin  pigs  and  cows,  farming 
was  missing.  The  negroes  at  different  stations 
made  some  very  good  music,  and  reminded  one 
of  the  old  Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin  stories. 

The  Regiment  was  transported  across  the 
country  in  three  divisions.  The  first,  in  charge 
of  Col.  Wood,  preceded  the  others  by  about 
half  a day.  The  last  division  was  under  charge 
Lieut.  Col.  Roosevelt,  and  arrived  just  a day  af- 
ter us  at  Tampa.  Our  visit  at  Tampa  had  the 
one  and  great  redeeming  feature,  the  Tampa 
Bay  Hotel.  Immediately  after  we  were  relieved 
at  the  camp,  we  four  got  together  and  went 
into  town.  Teddy  Burke  had  a room  the  night 
before,  so  we  went  up  to  that;  and,  after  shav- 
ing and  fixing  up,  which  consisted  of  our  try- 
ing on  each  others’  different  articles  of  clothing, 
and  mixing  up  things  generally,  only  to  return 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  8g 

to  our  own  army  outfit,  which  consisted  at  that 
time,  for  me,  of  my  blue  trousers,  Mr.  Edison’s 
shirt,  patent  leathers,  a red  bandana  handker- 
chief and  derby  hat,  which  was  later  replaced 
by  an  army  hat,  purchased  in  town  for  a dol- 
lar. Bob  Wrenn  insisted  on  our  fixing  up  and 
darting  into  the  main  dining  room;  but  we  re- 
fused, and  finally  induced  him  to  call  up  office 
on  telephone,  and  see  if  we  could  have  a back 
room,  or  some  more  secluded  spot.  His  man- 
ner of  doing  this  was  immensely  amusing,  and 
we  had  a grand  time  jollying  him  about  it. 
We  found  we  could  go  into  the  small  dining 
room  and  be  less  conspicuous  for  our  costume. 
The  hotel  was  the  headquarters  for  army  officers 
and  reporters;  so  on  our  way  down  we  met 
several  celebrities.  Teddy  introduced  us  to 
Remington,  Caspar  Whitney  and  a Col.  We 
also  met  R.  H.  Davis.  We  had  a very  fine  din- 
ner, and  afterward  wrote  letters,  etc.,  before 
returning  to  camp.  We  decided  this  day  to 
enlist  as  follows:  Teddy  and  I in  Troop  D.  and 
Bob  Wrenn  and  Bill  Larned  in  Troop  A. 
Friends  had  a good  deal  to  do  with  the  de- 
cision, and  we  looked  on  D.  for  the  horses  too, 
as  they  had  several  extra.  D.  has  splendid 
officers.  Teddy  and  I wanted  to  be  <(  bunkees,  ® 
and  we  knew  that  by  enlisting  at  the  same 
time,  we  would  likely  be  so.  We  returned  to 
camp  to  find  things  more  or  less  arranged; 


go  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

some  tents  tip  and  the  picket  line  up  and  the 
horses  attached.  We  had  a supper,  not  quite 
so  luxurious  as  our  dinner,  but  we  managed  to 
make  a meal  out  of  it.  That  night  I slept  out 
in  the  open  between  C.’s  horses  and  our  line  of 
tents,  on  some  borrowed  blankets.  Wright 

helped  me  out.  . . . 
The  next  morning, 
Saturday,  June  4th, 
was  my  first  experi- 
ence of  the  renowned 
(<  Reveille, n and  a 
morning  in  camp. 
Roll  call  comes  at 
about  five  minutes’ 
interval,  and  every- 
one must  be  dressed 
ready  to  line  up. 
After  breakfast,  when 
there  seemed  little  to 
do,  I looked  up  a fel- 
low from  Boston,  a 
terrible  sport,  but  of 
good  family,  and  a rather  good  fellow,  who 
joined  us  at  New  Orleans,  a perfect  stranger 
to  everybody  but  Teddy,  who  happened  to 
know  him  at  school.  We  met  the  other  fel- 
lows coming  back  from  town,  but  continued 
on  in  agreeing  to  meet  them  at  the  hotel. 
After  waiting  a while  at  the  hotel,  and  after 


Caspar  Whitney 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


9i 


two  very  refreshing  beers  (for  it  was  terri- 
bly hot).  Soon  Bill  Larned  came  rushing  in, 
having  hurried  from  the  camp  to  tell  us  that 
Col.  Roosevelt  wanted  to  enlist  us  that  morn- 
ing. We  hurried  back  and  took  the  oath,  etc., 
and  signed  our  fate  for  two  years,  and  were  as- 
signed as  we  desired.  Then  we  all  got  per- 
mission to  go  in  town  and  to  have  our  final 
square  meal,  as  we  then  thought. 

At  the  suggestion  of  Remington  we  all  went 
to  the  pool  for  a swim.  Bill  Larned  and 
I had  a room  together.  Tried  stunt  of  step- 
ping along  from  siding  to  stage.  I was  the 
first  to  do  it.  Had  a great  time.  Then  we  all 
pushed  in  and  had  dinner  in  the  big  dining  room 
with  ( ? ) Roosevelt,  Wood  and  General  Miles 
and  his  son,  wife  and  daughter  (we  thought). 
We  did  certainly  feel  very  much  out  of  place 
with  our  old  dirty  togs  and  ill-shaven  faces,  etc. 
After  dinner  we  wrote  letters  and  Barnard  and 
I went  in  town  to  mail  them,  and  met  the  fel- 
lows later  at  the  hotel  and  all  pushed  out. 
Met  Alger’s  son  this  day,  a tall,  dark-haired 
fellow  of  very  agreeable  manners.  Returned 
to  camp  about  five  o'clock;  found  extra  tent 
and  blankets,  and  fixed  our  tent  for  the  nieht. 
Had  supper  and  received  our  first  mail  (three 
letters)  which  I enjoyed  immensely.  We  then 
turned  in  and  by  the  (<  Tattoo®  bugle  were  well 
settled,  and  at  * Taps  ® just  about  asleep. 


g2  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

Called  next  morning  by  the  <(  Reveille  ” and 
lined  up  for  first  time.  Sunday  morning  was 
read  out  by  Serg.  Palmer,  as  on  the  Stable  Po- 
lice Duty,  which  consisted  of  watching  the 
horses  and  feeding  hay  and  oats,  etc.  Watch 
was  two  hours  on  and  four  hours  off.  My 
watch  came  just  as  church  bugle  sounded,  so  I 
enjoyed  church  from  a distance,  sitting  on  a 
stump  near  the  horses.  This  duty  kept  me  oc- 
cupied most  of  the  day.  That  night  some  of 
the  men  went  swimming,  but  I could  not  get 
off.  I went  on  again  about  nine  o’clock  and 
carried  out  my  instructions  for  the  day  watch, 
but  Capt.  Huston  and  Lieut.  Carr  came  by 
and  asked  me  what  had  been  my  instructions. 
They  seemed  surprised,  and  soon  Serg.  Ran- 
dolph came  to  me  and  told  me  the  night  in- 
structions about  sentry  duty,  continuous  patrol 
and  halting  any  person,  ist.  Halt!  (dismount). 
2nd.  Who  goes  there?  Advance  to  be  recog- 
nized. Pass  Officers  of  the  Day  and  commis- 
sioned officers,  but  arrest  any  other  person. 
John  Greenway  soon  came  dashing  up,  mounted ; 
and  I did  not  recognize  him  until  he  called  me 
by  name.  Teddy  Burke  and  Van  Vallen  were 
on  duty  as  reliefs  with  me,  and  Teddy  came 
next  after  me.  Thus  passed  that  night.  Mon- 
day morning  Teddy  and  I obtained  permission 
to  go  in  town  to  make  a final  preparation  for 
departure,  wrhich  was  expected  any  hour.  We 


Theodore  Westzvood  Miller 


93 


bought  a lot  of  stuff  for  other  fellows,  but  very 
little  for  ourselves.  Dade  gave  me  a check  to 
cash,  and  we  had  quite  a time  at  the  hotel  ar- 
ranging about  our  money.  Took  my  dress  suit 
case  with  Teddy’s  things  and  Wrenn’s  and 
Billy’s,  and  packed  them  all 
in  Teddy’s  trunk.  Teddy 
set  ’em  up  to  a specially 
prepared  breakfast  at 
the  Tampa  Bay,  as  a 
final  blow-out;  and 
we  loaded  ourselves 
with  oranges,  etc., 
and  took  a carriage 
to  the  camp.  This 
was  our  final  blow- 
out, as  it  did  actu- 
ally prove,  although 
we  did  not  realize  it 
at  the  time,  because  we 
had  had  so  many  false 
alarms.  On  our  return 
to  camp  found  that  orders 
had  just  been  issued  to  break  up  camp,  prepara- 
tory to  marching  any  minute.  Did  nothing  but 
wait  in  expectation  all  afternoon.  Packing, 
etc.,  occupied  all  our  time  next  day,  and  Dade 
hustled  around  to  get  Teddy  and  me  equipped, 
but  reported  at  four  o’clock  very  little  show; 
but  I got  everything  together  possible,  and  was 


Roosevelt  Davis 

Theodore 


94 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


about  equipped.  There  were  to  be  only  seventy 
men  from  our  Troop,  and  this  cut  out  Teddy 
and  me,  for  we  were  not  equipped,  and  others 
had  to  stay  with  us  to  keep  horses  in  readiness 
to  follow.  The  order  had  been  issued  that  the 
men  were  to  go  dismounted.  When  we  learned 
that  we  were  to  be  left  behind,  we  were  badly 
disappointed  — Teddy  not  so  much  as  I.  We 
talked  it  over,  and  decided  that  if  only  one 
could  go,  that  I should  take  the  place.  At  five 
the  men  were  lined  up  to  see  just  what  men 
were  equipped.  It  was  found  that  69  men  an- 
swered, so  the  Captain  said  to  us  at  the  side; 
((  If  any  man  can  find  a gun,  he  may  go.”  I 
happened  to  notice  where  one  had  been  placed 

by  a man  told  to  stay  with  the  horses  ( the 

saddler),  so  hustled  right  over  to  get  it,  and 
presented  myself  to  the  Captain.  I previously 
had  equipped  myself  with  the  exception  of 

gun.  But  as  I came  up  claimed  the  gun 

and  I gave  it  to  him;  but  Captain  said  I could 

go.  I did  not  know  the  reasons,  so  told 

to  understand  I was  not  taking  his  place  by  any 
pull  on  my  part;  for  he  was  dead  anxious  to 
go.  He  reported  to  Captain  and  Capt.  said  he 
could  go.  He  jumped  in  the  air  and  yelled  for 
joy  at  the  news,  while  I almost  broke  down 
with  disappointment,  and  did  cry.1  I thought 


’I  remember  how  anxious  he  was  not  to  be  left  at  Tampa, 
and  yet  how  he  declined  to  go  when  it  seemed  to  work  injury  to 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


95 


my  goose  was  cooked,  but  kept  at  it  and  hoped 
for  something  to  turn  up.  Everybody  was  ex- 
cited, and  we  heard  the  cheers  from  the  differ- 
ent troops  as  they  received  orders.  Next 
morning  as  I was  standing  about  talking,  and 
bemoaning  my  fate,  the  Captain  came  up  and 
handed  me  a gun  and  cartridge  belt.  I asked 
no  questions,  but  simply  leaped  inwardly  at  my 
good  fortune.  I learned  afterwards  that  a man 
had  been  found  asleep  on  guard  the  night  be- 
fore, and  that  they  had  taken  his  gun  and 
given  it  to  me.  Now  we  had  to  fix  up  Teddy, 
and  we  hustled  about  to  get  him  equipped,  in 
hope  something  would  turn  up  for  him.  After 
dinner,  as  we  were  lying  about  under  the  trees, 
Holt,  Simpson  and  Teddy,  et  al.,  Lieut.  Carr 
came  along  with  a paper  asking  for  subscrip- 
tions from  the  men  to  send  a man  named 
Crosby  home,  on  account  of  the  expected  death 
of  his  wife.  This  misfortune  of  one  at  just  the 
nick  of  time,  proved  the  great  fortune  of 
Teddy,  because  it  gave  him  a place.  So  finally 
we  were  all  fixed,  and  Wrenn  and  Larned  had 
worked  into,  someway,  by  pull  or  otherwise, 
Troop  A.  Roosevelt  gave  Bob  Wrenn  his  own 

one  that  he  conceived  had  a prior  right.  Afterwards,  when  an- 
other and  unquestioned  opportunity  offered,  the  alacrity  with 
which  he  prepared  and  the  perfect  happiness  — and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  he  was  always  (<  on  duty,®  and  always  in  his  quiet, 
earnest  way,  cheerful  and  willing. — From  a letter  to  Air.  Miller 
from  H.  K.  Love,  Troop  D.,  ist  U S.  V.  C. 


p<5 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


gun,  such  was  the  scarcity  of  those  essential 
parts  of  the  equipment.  After  supper  we  were 
ordered  to  report  as  special  detail  to  guard 
duty.  There  were  twelve  posts.  Teddy  was 
placed  at  eleven  and  I at  eight,  directly  in 
front  of  officers’  quarters.  This  was  a busy 


?S££-’  vr?'* 


Troop  D.  at  Tampa 


post,  for  there  was  a great  deal  of  passing,  on 
account  of  the  expected  orders  to  march.  The 
troops  were  marched  into  town  to  get  paid  off. 
There  was  delay,  and  I was  kept  on  guard 
three  hours  and  a half ; but  it  was  so  exciting 
that  the  time  passed  quickly.  Returned  to 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


97 


camp  to  find  that  orders  had  been  received  and 
everybody  was  excited.  Shouts  from  the  other 
troops  were  heard  at  varying  intervals.  All 
was  quiet  in  our  neighbor’s  camp.  Troop  C. 
was  left  behind;  also  H.  I.  & M.  This  was 
very  hard  luck  for  Garrie  and  Jerry  Gerard  and 
Lieut.  Sayre  from  Harvard,  all  of  whom  were 
in  C.  This  made  our  position  all  the  more  for- 
tunate, to  think  that  we,  who  had  entered  so 
lately  should  go,  and  those  that  had  been  in 
from  the  first  should  be  left  behind.  Dade  was 
on  the  anxious  seat  too  awhile,  because  the 
Second  Lieut,  at  first  received  orders  to  stay 
behind  with  horses,  but  later  the  order  was 
changed.  At  about  twelve  o’clock  the  order 
came  to  march.  We  lined  up,  and  by  the  light 
of  the  moon,  which  had  been  a beauty  during 
our  whole  stay,  advanced  to  the  R.  R.  After 
many  <(  fake n alarms  and  wakings  from  sleep 
around  a bonfire,  we  were  marched  to  another 
R.  R.  There  seemed  to  have  been  some  mis- 
take about  trains.  I never  spent  such  a night 
in  my  life,  and  felt  decidedly  on  the  bum  the 
next  morning.  We  sponged  some  breakfast 
from  some  other  Regiment  near  by,  and  Bill 
Larned  and  I foraged  the  neighboring  private 
houses  in  search  of  food,  waking  up  everybody. 
At  about  five  o’clock  a coal  train  pulled  up,  and 
we  were  ordered  aboard.  The  cars  were  of  the 
roughest  type  — dump  cars  — and  we  sat  on  the 
7 


pc 8 Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

edges  and  stood  in  the  bottom,  just  being  able 
to  peer  over  the  top,  but  were  so  delighted  at 
leaving  that  we  put  up  with  anything. 

Arrived  at  Port  Tampa  about  ten  o’clock, 
and  marched  about  a half  mile  to  our  steamer, 
the  Yucatan.  There  was  a terrible  delay  in 
putting  up  the  gangway,  and  we  had  to  stand 
out  in  the  burning  sun.  Went  aboard,  but  was 
soon  detailed  to  carry  stuff.  Almost  died 
under  weight  of  a bag  of  coffee.  Never 
worked  so  hard  in  my  life.  We  were  assigned 
deck  quarters,  and  our  squad,  under  Serg.  Hill, 
fixed  ourselves  about  ten  times  before  settling 
down.  We  have  a splendid  squad.  Serg.  Hill, 
Teddy,  Rhodes,  McClure,  Newcomb,  Beal, 
Russel,  Smutts,  Wolf,  McMillan,  Knox.  Cer- 
tainly a peach  crowd.  We  lay  at  the  dock  that 
night,  then  passed  out  into  the  harbor  the 
next  day,  and  remained  there  over  that  day 
and  night,  expecting  to  leave  as  soon  as  others 
were  ready.  Our  boat,  the  Yucatan , was  at  the 
command  of  Col.  Wood,  and  he  had  engaged 
accommodations  for  650  men;  but  the  2nd  Inf. 
asked  to  be  allowed  to  complete  the  number 
allowed  on  board,  850.  But  they  embarked 
about  400  men,  and  the  ship  was  terribly 
crowded.  We  returned  to  dock  next  day  and 
took  on  more  provisions  and  supplies,  and 
spent  the  night  moored  in  the  dock  channel, 
and  the  next  morning  passed  out  again  into  the 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  gg 

harbor,  where  we  lay  until  Monday  afternoon. 
The  accommodations  on  the  boat,  while  the 
extra  men  were  there,  were  something  fright- 
ful, and  I have  often  wondered  how  steerage 
passengers  live.  Well,  I found  out,  and  ex- 
perienced a much  worse  life.  We  were  for- 
tunate enough  to  have  been  assigned  to  the 
deck,  and  slept  out  in  the  open,  with  a blanket 
under  us,  and  one  to  draw  over  us,  if  cold,  but 
needed  it  only  toward  morning.  Teddy  and  I 
slept  two  nights  on  the  hurricane  deck,  and  one 
night  it  rained,  and  we  were  lucky  enough  to 
have  Teddy’s  rubber  blanket,  which  kept 
us  fairly  dry,  while  the  others  got  simply 
drenched.  The  next  night  I happened  to  dis- 
cover that  an  extra  room  in  the  very  stern  on 
second  deck  would  make  a fine  place  in  case  of 
rain.  They  had  been  keeping  a prisoner  there 
— a small  boy  who  stabbed  a fellow  crewman 
for  some  trifling  quarrel.  He  was  handcuffed, 
so  we  were  running  little  risk.  I went  to  Col. 
Wood  for  permission  to  sleep  there,  and  he  said 
I might  get  a few  men  and  do  so.  Bob  Wrenn, 
Billy  L.,  and  Teddy,  with  two  others  and  my- 
self, slept  there.  The  next  night  many  others 
got  on  to  the  snap,  and  the  place  was  crowded; 
but  we  fixed  our  guns  and  stuff  up  there  as  a 
good  dry  place,  and  were  going  to  use  it  for 
that  purpose.  But  the  next  day  they  con- 
verted it  into  a hospital  for  patients  with  measles 


100 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


and  other  contagious  diseases,  so  we  got  out. 
There  was  great  uncertainty  about  our  leaving, 
and  all  sorts  of  rumors  prevailed.  The  fleet 
gradually  arranged  itself,  after  a great  deal  of 
shifting;  and  as  each  vessel  went  forward  of 
another,  the  men  would  cheer  and  shout,  think- 
ing that  they  were  first  to  be  off.  The  warships 
began  to  appear  one  by  one.  The  Helena , 
Hornet , and  a cruiser  came  into  the  harbor,  but 
the  war  fleet  awaited  us  outside  the  bay. 

Sunday  I was  ordered  to  report  as  stroke  of 
our  troop  crew,  to  row  the  Col.  about.  We 
took  him  over  to  the  Scguranca , the  flagship 
for  our  transports ; then  we  rowed  to  another 
transport  and  back  to  our  ship.  Troop  K.  men 
had  been  assigned  this  boat,  so  they  piled  in 
immediately,  and  we  all  went  into  the  dock, 
hoping  we  could  get  up  town,  but  were  badly 
<(  rubber  necked,  ® and  had  to  row  boat  back  to 
our  ship.  But  finally  we  piled  into  a boat  and 
went  in  town.  Burgess  and  I fell  in  together 
and  walked  up  town,  purchasing  lemonade  and 
ice  cream  at  every  vendor’s.  Became  separated 
while  Bob  and  I had  some  ice  cream,  so  we 
took  a ride  on  a freight  up  to  the  station , find- 
ing that  we  could  not  get  to  Tampa  City  until 
too  late,  decided  to  stay  in  Port  Tampa. 
Bought  35  cents  worth  of  gum  at  the  station, 
and  sold  it  afterwards  on  ship  board  for  70,  be- 
sides all  I gave  away  and  chewed  myself.  Got 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


IOI 


some  stuff,  and  then  went  to  a S.  School  with 
Cunningham,  a lawyer  from  San  Antonio,  in 
Troop  D.  After  this  we  walked  about  the  vil- 
lage, which  consisted  of  saloons,  two  grocery 
stores  and  a lot  of  temporary  booths.  Re- 
turned to  dock  to  find  Dade  Goodrich  and  an- 
other Lieut,  had  been  looking  for  us.  Dade 
rowed  the  boat  up  to  the  dock,  and  we  all  piled 
in  for  the  Yucatan.  I had  bought  cookies  and 
stuff,  so  had  many  friends  when  I arrived.  It 
had  become  almost  a necessity  to  buy  outside 
stuff;  and,  on  shipboard,  had  it  not  been  for 
my  success  in  working  up  a ((  pull  ® with  the 
cooks  when  I was  on  guard,  I should  have  cer- 
tainly starved.  But  I worked  it  just  right,  so 
that  I could  get  fresh  water  and  something  to 
eat  most  every  time  I asked.  The  use  of  fresh 
water  was  greatly  limited,  so  my  (<  pull  ” did  me 
a great  service.  I was  on  guard  about  the  first 
night,  and  was  lucky  enough  to  get  the  post  at 
the  kitchen,  which  proved  to  be  most  valuable 
of  all.  Tony,  the  chief  cook,  gave  me  a fine 
dinner,  and  later  I bought  a pipe  from  the  baker, 
so  won  his  good  will.  . . . Must  mention 

the  small  boy  13  years  old,  who  came  aboard 
fully  equipped  and  wanted  to  enlist,  but  was 
refused.  Thus  passed  the  time  until  Monday, 
the  thirteenth.  At  noon  we  weighed  anchor 
and  steamed  out  into  the  bay,  running  into  a 
sand  bar,  and  again  colliding  with  another 


102 


Theodore  Wcstzuood  Miller 


transport,  or  so  near  that  everyone  thought  it 
impossible  to  avoid  a collision.  The  report 
was  that  a sand  bar  threw  us  suddenly  off  our 
course.  It  was  very  fortunate  for  ourselves 
and  boat  that  we  did  not  collide,  for  a more 
serious  result  than  mere  effects  of  collision 
would  have  resulted  from  the  explosion  of  the 
dynamite  which  was  stored  in  the  bow  of  our 
boat.  We  anchored  a short  distance  out,  so 
that  the  expedition  did  not  start  on  the  hoodooed 
day,  Monday  the  thirteenth. 


CHAPTER  VI 


Our  voyage  was 
unique,  with  all  the 
fleet  surrounding  us, 
about  50  all  told,  com- 
posed of  Battleships, 
Cruisers,  Gunboats, 
Torpedo  Boats, 
Transports,  News- 
paper Boat  Olivette , 
two  yachts,  the  Hor- 
net and  another. 

The  Helena  and  In- 
diana were  among 
the  fleet.  As  far  as 
one  could  see  were 
these  ships  in  two 
columns.  It  was  a 
beautiful  sight,  and 
one  unprecedented 
in  our  history,  and 
the  largest  expedi- 
tion we  ever  sent 
out.  Our  transport, 

No.  8,  took  a rather 


On  the  Yucatan  Leaving  Tampa 


104. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


central  position,  so  we  had  vessels  on  all 
sides.  We  passed  to  the  east  of  the  Dry  Tor- 
tugas,  and  did  not  stop  at  Key  West;  but  it 
was  rumored  that  other  Men  of  War  met  us 
from  Key  West.  The  Ericsson  passed  just 
astern  of  us,  and,  towed  by  a small  navy  tug 
boat,  left  us  obliquely,  sailing  a little  to  the 
east.  The  tug  boat  had  some  rapid  fire  guns 
aboard.  One  day  followed  another,  and  we 
could  not  tell,  except  with  careful  and  lengthy 
calculation,  what  day  it  was.  Our  food  grew 
worse  and  worse  every  day,  and  we  should 
surely  have  starved,  had  it  not  been  for  our 
friends  in  the  kitchen.  I got  our  squad  to  join 
another  and  have  a beef  hash,  which  relieved 
the  monotony  some.  We  had  to  pay  enormous 
prices  for  everything  in  the  kitchen,  and  the 
cooks  imposed  upon  the  men  terribly.  It  is 
said  that  the  baker  made  $200.00  the  first  day 
by  tips,  and  selling  bread  and  ordinary  stuff. 
He  charged  50  cents  for  pies,  and  men  paid 
anything  between  that  and  $1.00  for  pies. 
The  N.  Y.  men  simply  poured  money  into 
the  kitchen,  and,  at  first,  were  allowed  to 
board  in  the  dining  room  after  the  officers, 
but  later  were  forbidden  this  very  great  lux- 
ury. One  not  having  experienced  it  can 
hardly  realize  how  we  begged  for  food,  and 
even  stole  a cracker  or  piece  of  bread  from 
passing  waiters. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  105 

One  day  the  Indiana  saluted,  and  everyone 
thought  we  had  encountered  the  enemy  surely; 
but  it  proved  to  be  only  a salute.  I was  put  on 
detail  to  assist  the  Commissary  Lieut.,  and 
worked  like  a horse  in  the  hold  of  the  ship, 
shoving  boxes  and  bags  about,  and  was  told  to 
report  again  at  one  o'clock  P.  M.  This  I did, 
but  found  no  one  there,  so  Waited  until  four 
o’clock,  when  I thought  I was  justified  in  leav- 
ing for  drill.  Drill  came  at  seven  in  the  morn- 
ing and  four  in  the  afternoon  every  day.  I was 
somewhat  awkward  at  first,  but  gradually  got 
on  to  it. 1 . 

By  Friday  I became  pretty  sick  of  the  food 
and  crowd,  and  was  just  about  in  generous 
mood,  but  managed  to  keep  my  limited  share 
of  food  for  my  own  use  a little  longer.  Satur- 
day there  was  a great  and  sudden  delay.  All 
the  boats  seem  to  collect  and  wait  for  the  ones 
in  the  rear.  The  Olivette , a Red  Cross  boat, 
came  alongside,  and  we  lowered  a boat  to  take 
off  our  sick.  Three  men,  very  feeble  with 
some  fever,  reported  malaria,  were  carried  to 
the  lower  deck  and  passed  out  the  hole  in  star- 
board side. 


1In  the  manual  drills  which  we  had  twice  a day  on  our  way 
over,  he  made  such  rapid  progress  and  was  so  earnest  in  his 
work,  that  he  called  forth  a number  of  compliments  from  Capt. 
Huston. — Letter  to  Mrs.  Miller  from  Lieut.  Goodrich. 


io6 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


Saturday,  the  12th,  I had  my  hair  cut,  in  fact 
shingled,  and  indulged  in  a most  excellent 
shave  also.  We  sighted  land  Friday,  and  from 
all  indications  it  was  Cuban  soil.  We  later 
passed  a sailing  boat  that  carried  mail  from 
Cuban  points  to  Nassau.  Saturday  passed  with 
land  in  sight  most  of  the  day.  At  night  I saw 
an  incident  which  but  indicates  our  point  of 
desperation  in  search  of  food.  A K.  man  of 
N.  Y.,  sat  upon  the  side  of  the  cook’s  dining 
room  door,  and  when  he  thought  no  one  was 
looking,  reached  in  stealthily,  grabbed  a plate 
that  had  some  gravy  left  from  a meal,  and 
drank  it  from  the  dish.  I was  somewhat  sur- 
prised, bi:t  probably  would  have  done  the  same 
thing  myself.  Men  offered  any  price  for  food, 
or  even  a scrap  of  bread  from  the  kitchen.  I 
had  felt  <(  bum  ” all  day  and  could  eat  nothing. 
The  coffee  was  “rotten,”  and  I took  just  a sip 
in  the  morning,  with  two  bits  of  hard  tack  for 
breakfast,  a sardine  for  dinner,  which  Bill 
Larned  gave  me,  and  had  nothing  for  supper, 
hoping  to  work  a pull  I had  arranged  in  the 
kitchen ; but  the  fool  cook  went  back  on  me.  I 
had  spoken  to  Bob  Wrenn,  Bill  Larned,  Teddy, 
Holt  and  Hill,  so  we  were  all  disappointed. 
Holt,  Bob  and  I went  in  search  of  anything  we 
could  get  from  the  kitchen,  and  Teddy  went 
with  Doc.  I was  never  so  craving  for  even  a 
crust  of  bread.  The  steward  had  ordered  no 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  ioj 

one  to  sell  anything,  so  the  cooks  did  it  on  the 
sly  only,  and  charged  enormously  and  made 
tremendous  money,  so  that  they  soon  became 
terribly  independent  and  domineering.  We 
waited  from  seyen  until  nearly  ten  down  in  a 
dark  old  alley,  driyen  about  by  the  guard  and 
cooks  like  cattle.  Holt  thought  he  had  a pull 
on  some  food,  but  it,  too,  failed.  Finally  Teddy 
and  Doc  bought  a loaf  of  fresh  bread  for  a 
quarter.  They  called  me,  and  I a did  not  do  a 
thing  ” to  that  bread.  I never  had  bread  taste 
so  good.  We  saved  some  for  the  others;  so  I 
did  not  get  half  enough.  We  used  all  means 
of  persuasion,  and  had  a plot  to  break  into  the 
cook’s  mess,  but  could  not  accomplish  it.  Bob 
Wrenn,  unbeknown  to  us,  had  succeeded  in 
buying  from  one  of  the  crew  his  supper  of  dry 
bread,  bacon  and  a little  bologna.  We  were 
leaving  and  had  the  most  dejected  spirits, 
when,  suddenly,  Bob  produced  this  plate  of 
stuff.  I almost  fell  on  his  neck.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  we  stood  on  no  ceremony,  but 
pitched  right  in.  That  certainly  braced  me  up, 
for  I felt  much  better  next  day.  We  sneaked 
back,  stepping  over  and  on  about  every  other 
person,  being  cursed  as  we  went  along  for  the 
same,  until  I found  Teddy,  with  my  blankets 
and  bed,  waiting  for  me  in  A.  quarters. 

Sunday,  19th.  Awoke  to-day  feeling  much 
better,  and  in  good  shape ; but  as  I put  on  my 


io8 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


clothes,  I looked  through  my  pocket-book,  as  is 
my  custom  in  the  morning,  and  lo  and  behold, 
all  my  cash  was  gone.  I told  Teddy  and  then 
went  to  Serg.  Hill  and  told  him  exact  cir- 
cumstances. We  decided  to  take  it  directly  to 
Capt.  Huston,  which  Serg.  Hill  did,  in  his 
official  capacity.  In  the  meantime  I dressed, 
and  said  nothing  to  anyone  else,  but  thought  a 
good  deal.  I had  the  man  spotted  after  recall- 
ing a few  incidents  of  the  day  before' — viz.  : I 
had  been  ill,  and,  in  consequence,  dozed  about 
our  squad  a good  deal.  Man  asked  me  to 
change  two  dollars.  I gave  him  two  silver 
dollars,  and  placed  the  bill  in  my  pocketbook, 
which  I kept  in  my  front,  left  hand,  pants 
pocket.  I did  this  without  standing,  so  sus- 
pected that  I might  have  placed  it  insecurely 
and  not  far  down  in  the  pocket.  I noticed  the 
bills  were  there  then,  but  that  was  the  last  I 
knew  of  it.  But  a circumstance  later  placed  a 
man  in  prominence  in  the  case.  A man  who 
has  been  accused  several  times,  and  was  caught 
stealing  the  day  we  left  Tampa,  and  reported 
to  the  Captain  for  taking  Teddy’s  blanket,  came 
to  me  about  five  o’clock  Saturday,  and  carefully 
explained  to  Teddy  and  me  how  he  had  lent  a 
man  a nickle  to  shoot  for  him  in  a game  of 
craps.  He  had  won  thereby  two  dollars  and 
chances  of  further  earnings.  I put  all  the 
facts  before  the  Captain  when  he  called  for  me, 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  log 

and  told  him  my  suspicions.  He  thought  them 

so  well  founded  that  he  decided  to  call to 

his  room,  search  him  without  questions,  and 
get  the  money.  I had  hardly  the  faintest  hope 
of  recovering  even  a part  of  my  money  among 
so  many  men ; but  what  was  my  astonishment 
when  I was  summoned  to  the  Captain,  and 
there  was and  the  Capt.  with  another  offi- 

cer. They  asked  me  to  identify  the  bills.  This 
I could  not  do,  as  I had  marked  no  peculiarity 
about  them;  but  one  bill,  a twenty,  was  a 
brown  back,  and  this  I felt  quite  sure  was 
mine.  I told  the  denominations  of  the  others, 
and  just  how  I had  them  folded,  etc.,  and  then 
they  excused  me.  There  is,  in  my  mind,  no 
question  about  the  man’s  guilt;  but  he  has  a 
splendid  story  worked  up,  and  claims  to  have 
witnesses  to  back  it.  As  I write  now,  nothing 
has  been  done  to  my  knowledge,  except  his  ar- 
rest. To-day  we  were  ordered  by  the  Flagship 
to  drop  back  and  accompany  the  City  of  Wash- 
ington, the  transport  that  was  near  the  Maine 
when  she  was  blown  up.  The  City  of  Washing- 
ton is  towing  an  ammunition  supply  schooner, 
so  goes  more  slowly  than*the  rest.  We  made  a 
large  circle  and  rounded  up  alongside.  While 
doing  so,  the  Bancroft  fired  a shot  signal  to  us 
to  stop,  and  immediately  ran  alongside,  and  in- 
quired why  we  had  dropped  back.  There  was 
some  difficulty  in  understanding  at  the  distance 


IIO 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


as  we  had  no  megaphone  aboard.  The  Com- 
mander of  the  Bancroft , after  getting  the  de- 
sired information,  and  a calling  down  ” our 
Captain  for  not  reporting  change  of  orders, 
asked  what  troops  were  aboard,  and  upon  reply 
from  the  Capt.,  the  Rough  Riders  with  Roose- 
velt and  Wood,  there  went  up  a great  shout 
from  the  marines  aboard  the  Bancroft , an- 
swered by  a cheer  for  the  Navy  from  our  boat. 
It  was  tremendously  inspiring.  Later  the 
Bancroft  steamed  alongside,  and  asked  how 
Cols.  Wood  and  Roosevelt  were,  and  our  men 
replied,  almost  in  one  voice;  (<he’s  all  right.” 
We  saw  a good  deal  of  rolling  hills  of  Cuba, 
and  it  certainly  was  a welcome  sight.  I was 
told  about  noon  that  I was  to  go  on  guard  to- 
night— not  a very  welcome  announcement — - 
but  I was  feeling  so  good  in  spirits  about  finding 
my  money  that  I did  not  take  it  hard.  We  all 
got  together  in  A.  quarters,  and  lay  on  our 
backs  in  a crowd  and  jollied  up.  Also  had  a 
fine  time  telling  stories  in  the  afternoon  with 

Webb,  Teddy  and  Hill.  The incident 

brought  up  the  subject  of  thieves;  so  we  had  a 
fine  line  of  stories.  My  Hood  1 experience,  etc., 
added  greatly  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour.  I 
mounted  guard  at  five  and  was  on  second  relief, 
so  had  time  for  a talk  with , who  was  one  of 


1 An  allusion  to  an  incident  of  Theodore’s  life  in  New  York. 


Theodore  Westivood  Miller 


hi 


seven  prisoners  in  the  guardhouse.  He  said 
the  money  was  given  him  by  his  parents  when 
he  left  San  Antonio. 

I was  posted  down  in  the  hold  and  went  on 
at  seven.  During  my  second  guard,  Lieut. 
Goodrich  came  down  and  we  had  a little  talk. 
This  post  I had  was  to  guard  dynamite,  and  I 
had  to  keep  very  strict  watch  about  lights,  etc. 
We  had  service  in  the  morning,  and  I sang  in 
the  choir  next  to  Col.  Roosevelt.  Very  good 
sermon  on  <(  Respect.  ® We  have  a very  good 
Chaplain.  The  band  played  to  lead  the  singing. 
In  the  morning  I put  out  my  washing,  and 
trailed  my  dog  tent,  pants,  handkerchiefs,  socks 
and  towels.  They  trailed  all  day  and  night. 
We  saw  land  most  of  afternoon,  beautiful  roll- 
ing hills,  and  toward  evening  the  Helena  and 
Olivette , and  two  other  vessels,  appeared  off 
our  port  amidship,  and  soon  came  close  by. 

Monday,  June  20th.  This  morning  I awoke 
with  the  call  of  the  Serg.  of  guard  at  seven. 
Cuba  appeared  off  our  starboard.  The  same 
rolling  hills  and  mountains,  with  clouds  hang- 
ing in  the  summits  — a beautiful  sight.  I went 
with  the  second  relief  to  my  post,  so  missed 
most  of  the  scenery.  During  my  time  I was 
writing  my  Diary,  and  had  borrowed  a list  of 
boats  from  Babcock,  Troop  K.,  and  was  copy- 
ing it,  when  Dade  Goodrich  came  around  as 
Officer  of  the  Day  to  inspect  the  guards.  He 


1 12 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


told  me  I was  not  allowed  to  write  or  do  any- 
thing beside  watch  when  on  guard.  So  when  I 
returned  to  guardhouse,  or  hurricane  deck, 
Dunham  copied  the  following  for  me : — 


1.  Miami, 

2.  Santiago, 

3.  Gussie, 

4.  Cherokee, 

5.  Seneca, 

6.  Alamo, 

7.  Comal, 

8.  Yucatan, 

9.  Berkshire, 

10.  Whiting, 

11.  Olivette, 

12.  Seguranca, 

13.  Knickerbocker, 

14.  Concho, 

15.  Florida, 

16.  City  of  Washington, 

17.  Allegheny, 

18.  San  Marcos, 

19.  Decatur  H.  Miller, 

20.  Saratoga, 

21.  Ueona, 

22.  Rio  Grande, 

23.  Vigilancia, 

24.  Orisaba, 

25.  Iroquois, 

26.  Matteawan, 

27.  Avangus, 

28.  Stillwater, 

29.  Breakwater, 

30.  Morgan, 

31 

32- 


9th  Cav.,  6th  Inf. 

9th  Inf.,  1 Batt.,  10th  Inf.,  Gen,  Kent. 

50  Packers,  300  Mules. 

Part  of  12th  & 7th  Inf. 

8th  Inf.,  1 Batt.  2nd  Mass.  Vol. 

1 Bat.  Engineers  and  1 Bat.  10th  Inf. 

2 Lt.  Bat.  1st  Art.  1 Fid.  Hospital  & 
Horse. 

8 Troops  1st  U.  S.  V.  C.  2 Co.’s  2nd  Inf. 
2it.  Batteries,  2nd  Art. 

350  Mules  and  Packers. 

Press  Gang  (Clear  cha.  to  Hospital). 

1st  Inf.,  15th  Army  Corps  Hdqrs. 

Part  of  22nd  Inf. 

4th  & 25th  Inf.  1 Bat.  2 Mass.  V. 
Disabled. 

24th  Inf.  and  1 Bat.  21st  Inf. 

3rd  & 6th  Cav.  General  Wheeler. 

16th  Inf.  and  1 Bat.  2nd  Inf. 

Part  of  7th  Inf. 

13th  Inf.  & 1 Bat.  21st  Inf. 

1st  & 10th  Cav.  and  Gen.  Young. 

190  Horses. 

71st  N.  Y.  Inf. 

22nd  Inf.,  Siege  Guns  & 2nd  Corps 
Heavy  Art. 

17th  & part  of  12th  Inf. 

Gen.  Bates,  20th  Inf.  2 Troops  2nd  Cav. 
Horses  & Transports  & 3rd  Inf. 

Troop  A.  2nd  Cav. 

3rd  Inf. 

Troop  C.  2nd  Cav. 

B.  & D. 

2nd  Inf, 


Batt.  is  4 Companies.  All  Regulars,  except  1st  U.  S.  V.  Cavalry, 
2nd  Mass.  Inf.,  71st  N.  Y.  Inf.  The  above  is  the  complete  author- 
ized list  of  ships  in  fleet. 


'J 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  nj 

When  I left  my  post  I was  ordered  to  appear 
before  Col.  Wood,  and  fixing  myself  up  with 
white  handkerchief  and  dossy  uniform,  ap- 
peared at  the  officers’  quarters.  Col.  Wood  had 
summoned  Scott  and  Wright  also,  to  question 

us  in  regard  to  the incident.  We  all  told 

our  stories  and  he  dismissed  us.  The  guilt  of 

is  still  in  question,  but  evidence  is  certainly 

against  him.  I returned  to  guard  deck,  and 
soon  sent  out  again  to  my  post.  The  quarter- 
master appeared  soon,  and  took  rations  out  of 
hold.  About  noon  we  caught  up  with  some 
of  the  fleet,  and  waited  just  off  Guantanamo,  a 
splendid  harbor,  where  a number  of  boats  were 
anchored.  Soon  the  Bancroft  came  alongside, 
and  commanding  officer  shouted  the  news  of  an 
engagement  which  occurred  a week  ago  Sun- 
day, between  U.  S.  Marines  and  Spaniards  in 
a stronghold  at  this  place.  The  fighting  lasted 
one  hundred  hours  with  eight  hundred. 

Tuesday,  21st.  Saw  water-spout  and  two 
whales.  Anxious  moments  all  day,  having 
come  near  Santiago.  Soon  we  got  our  orders, 
and  that  night  I took  a lunch  with  Lieut.  Good- 
rich in  his  stateroom,  and  learned  from  him 
and  Carr  our  plans.  The  expedition  to  land  in 
three  columns  about  six  or  seven  miles  apart, 
and  unite  to  advance  on  Santiago.  Plan  to 
seize  the  water  supply  of  Santiago  and  starve 
them  out;  then  advance  on  city. 

8 


CHAPTER  VII 


Wednesday,  22nd.  This  morning  <(  Reveille  5> 
sounded  at  half  past  three,  and  we  packed 
everything  ready  for  landing.  About  seven 
o’clock  the  bombardment  of  the  shore  in  front 
of  our  column,  the  center  one.  The  New 
York  and  New  Orleans , with  several  gunboats 
and  small  yachts,  carried  on  a fierce  fire,  and 
cleared  the  woods  at  the  S.  A.  I.  Co.’s  Pier. 
Dupree  Hall  planted  the  American  flag  on  top 
of  hill  first  of  all,  thus  giving  the  honor  to  our 
Regiment. 1 The  Cuban  forces  met  our  men  at 
the  pier.  Our  Company  did  not  disembark 
until  about  six  o’clock  P.  M.,  and  learned  from 
Cubans  that  1,000  Spaniards  had  been  driven 
back.  No  resistance  from  Spaniards  at  land- 
ing. We  camped  in  this  little  settlement  all 
night;  made  a little  hut  out  of  ponchoes.  Had 


1 As  it  was  shown  the  cheers  rose  from  the  regiment  on  land 
and  were  echoed  by  the  troops  on  the  ships,  and  soon  the  ships 
whistled  all  together.  It  was  certainly  an  inspiring  occasion 
and  a day  that  will  never  leave  my  memory. — Letter  from  Theo- 
dore Miller  to  his  family,  June  23. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  i if 

cocoanuts,  chilies  and  good  water.  Herald 
man  took  pictures  of  our  hut. 

Next  day.  Goodrich  ate  supper  with  me. 
Wrote  letters  to  Bill  Judd  and  Pop  Baldwin,  and 
a long  one  to  mother.  Must  mention  drowning 
of  colored  soldiers  at  pier.  Two  drowned  in 
our  sight.  Capt.  O’Neil  jumped  for  them. 
Mules  poorl)T  treated.  Great  delight  in  land- 
ing, and  men  in  good  spirits.  Learned  a little 
Cuban  Spanish.  The  Cubans  advanced  as 
scouts,  and  we  took  a rest  over  night. 1 

Thursday.  Had  lot  of  cocoanuts  and  rested 
at  this  place.  Packed  up  about  three  o’clock 
under  marching  orders.  Were  among  advance 
and  started  off  on  a terrible  march. 

Great  deal  of  climbing,  and  the  starting  and 
stopping  was  terribly  tiresome.  Passed  through 
very  tropical  scenes  and  groves  of  cocoanut 
trees.  Started  out  in  fours,  but  soon  changed 
to  twos,  and  finally  single  file,  through  deep 
thicket.  . . . Our  packs  were  terribly 

1 My  experience  thus  far  has  paid  me  for  any  sacrifice  I have 
made,  and  I would  not  have  missed  it  for  anything.  The  voy- 
age, made  long  by  delays,  was  rather  uneventful  and  monoto- 
nous. The  food  was  poor  and  we  traveled  so  slowly  that  it 
made  us  impatient,  but  now  that  we  are  here  it  does  certainly 
feel  fine  to  have  a change  from  that  vessel.  The  last  two  days 
made  up  for  the  others  in  interest.  . . . The  bombardment 

was  a sight  of  a life-time,  and  we  had  a splendid  position  to 
view  it  from,  lying  just  a short  distance  from  the  shore  directly 
off  the  objective  point. — Letter  from  Theodore  Miller  to  his 
family,  June  2j. 


n6  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

heavy,  and  a man  without  a haversack  had 
to  carry  shovel  or  axe  or  pick.  I carried  both 
quite  a distance.  We  arrived  at  the  place  the 
left  column  had  landed,  where  quite  a set- 
tlement was.  A railroad  had  been  ruined  by 
Spaniards,  but  was  repaired  by  our  forces  and 
put  in  working  order,  by  finding  scattered 
pieces.  Arrived  about  eight  o’clock,  after  out- 
stripping all  regiments,  and  became  advance 
guard  of  our  forces.  Hundreds  of  men  dropped 
out  and  kept  coming  into  camp  for  some  time. 
Started  to  rain  soon  after  Teddy  arrived,  and  I 
fixed  him  up  with  his  rubber  blanket  and 
cooked  something  for  him.1  He  was  badly  2 
done  up.  After  shower  he  got  up  while  I was 
away  in  search  of  water  and  port  wine,  which 
had  been  thrown  about  by  barrelfuls  before  we 
arrived.  On  my  return,  Bill  Larned  was  with 
him,  and  they  were  drying  their  clothes  before 
the  fire.  I cooked  me  some  coffee  then  and 
got  my  bed  arranged,  but  did  not  get  to  sleep 
until  nearly  twelve,  after  drying  clothes 
thoroughly,  a precaution  I always  take.  The 


1 1 had  a genuine  admiration  for  him  for  the  quiet,  earnest, 
willing  and  unselfish  elements  that  were  so  apparent  in  his  char- 
acter. His  watchful,  constant  care  of  his  friend  and  “bunky,” 
Teddy  Burke,  could  not  fail  to  attract  attention. — Letter  to  Mr. 
Miller  from  H.  K.  Love,  Troop  D.,  ist  U.  S.  V.  C. 

2 His  kindness  to  me  when  I was  ill  could  not  have  been 
greater  had  I been  his  own  brother. — Letter  to  Mr.  Miller  frovi 
Teddy  Burke. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  iij 

march  was  the  feat  of  the  day;  about  eleven 
miles,  through  terrible  sands  and  mud  and 
thicket;  but  we  made  it  in  shorter  time  than 
the  Regulars.  They  say  there  was  a news- 
paper’s influence  brought  to  bear  to  lengthen 
and  hasten  the  march,  but  I hardly  believe 
that.  Most  of  it  was  made  on  double  quick, 
and  the  catching  up  after  helping  on  Teddy, 
was  very  trying.  We  slept  well  that  night; 

Friday,  24th.  Teddy  wanted  to  go  terribly, 
but  was  out  of  his  head  and  talked  incessantly 
about  Polo  match,  which  he  thought  he  was 
playing  and  had  been  hurt.  I reported  him 
and  let  Bill  Larned  and  Bob  know  about  him. 
Saw  Surgeon  La  Motte  ...  no  Surgeon 
was  to  stay,  so  those  left  behind  had  to  take 
care  of  themselves  and  each  other.  I helped 
Teddy  to  a house  and  fixed  up  his  roll  and 
money  matters,  and  did  all  I could  to  make  him 
comfortable,  and  said  good-bye.  . . . He 

was  rational  before  I left. 

We  started  our  march  about  six  o’clock 
A.  M.,  and  went  straight  up  over  the  moun- 
tains with  a terrible  climb.  We  advanced  in 
single  file  most  of  the  way;  and,  after  a march 
of  three  miles,  by  a side  path  to  avoid  the 
main  road.  Suddenly  heard  a few  stray 
shots;  then  volley  after  volley.  We  halted, 
and,  at  order,  dropped  behind  a ridge ; then 


n8 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


came  order  along  to  advance  and  load  guns 
and  magazines.  Then  we  pushed  on,  hearing 
stray  bullets  in  the  trees.  Soon  Capt.  Huston 
started  out  to  the  left  and  climbed  through  a 
fence.  We  all  followed  as  regularly  as  possible, 
hearing  this  firing  constantly.  We  advanced  a 
few  paces  and  then  dropped,  prepared  to  fire, 
and  fired  some  shots ; but  seeing  nothing  of  the 
Spaniards,  and  recognizing  our  own  men,  tried 
to  get  all  to  stop  firing.  This  was  the  hardest 
thing  to  do.  To  keep  men  from  firing  was 
almost  impossible  in  the  excitement ; but  it  was 
amazing  to  see  how  cool  our  raw  volunteers 
were.  Simpson  and  I seemed  to  turn  up 
together  everywhere.  We  tried  to  keep  with 
our  Company,  but  lost  it,  and  in  advancing 
down  hill  met  other  men.  Beal  and  Newcomb 
were  fighting  on  my  right  next  to  me,  and  on 
orders  to  return  to  Company,  I saw  poor  Beal 
twisting  on  ground.  He  asked  to  be  helped. 
I stopped  to  tell  him  to  bind  his  leg  above  the 
wound,  which  showed  plainly  above  the  knee. 
Right  here  was  the  greatest  fire,  and,  coming 
from  the  rear,  we  thought  it  must  be  another 
of  our  own  Companies;  but  it  was  the  Span- 
iards, as  we  learned.  Orders  strictly  forbade  us 
to  stop  to  help  in  action,  so  I had  to  leave  him. 
We  collected  our  Company  under  Lieut.  Carr, 
and  waited.  Soon  advance  was  ordered,  and 
Simpson  and  I hurried  down  the  hill  ahead, 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  iiq 

but  soon  became  separated  from  the  rest  of 
our  troops,  and  fell  in  with  F.  Troop  awhile, 
under  Capt.  Luna,  the  Mexican ; but  soon  Capt. 
Huston  turned  up  alone,  and  Simpson  and  I 
stuck  to  him.  Soon  we  found  a man  of  F.  shot 
in  the  arm.  We  helped  him  back  under  a tree, 
and  an  emergency  bag  man  was  there.  Cols. 
Wood  and  Roosevelt  soon  turned  up,  and  we 
had  a sort  of  rendezvous  there  under  the  trees. 
We  advanced  a short  distance  and  found  Stew- 
art and  Bob.  We  looked  across  the  valley 
and  saw  Cubans  ( ? ) lined  up  behind  entrench- 
ments, and,  before  firing  on  them,  I had  asked 
Capt.  Huston  if  they  were  Cubans  or  Span- 
iards. He  called  Col.  Wood,  and  it  was  decided 
that  they  were  Cubans;  but  I still  had  my 
doubts.  Stewart  decided  for  himself  and 
opened  fire.  We  soon  fell  in  with  our  Troop, 
and  made  a wide  forward  swing  to  the  left, 
going  through  a large  patch  of  Cuban  palmetto 
plants,  and  on  through  a plantation  house,  a 
complete  wreck  as  a habitation ; but  the 
thatched  roof  and  walls  were  somewhat  intact. 
On  we  went,  through  thickets,  etc.,  to  a ravine, 
and  on  about  200  yards,  where  I decided  to 
drop  my  roll,  or  a portion  of  it,  which  I did 
not  actually  need.  From  this  point  we  heard 
the  recall  from  a bugle,  so  retreated  to  ravine, 
where  our  Troop  re-organized  under  Capt. 
Huston,  Lieuts.  Carr  and  Goodrich.  They 


120 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


discovered  water  at  some  distance  down  the 
ravine,  so  we  sent  detail  down  for  water.  We 
had  no  firing  after  leaving  the  general  force  of 
the  left  wing,  and  became  only  the  advance 
skirmish  line.  While  lying  in  the  ravine,  a 
regular  officer  came  up  and  informed  us  that 
Major  Brodie  had  been  shot,  and  that  Capt. 
Huston  was  to  take  charge  of  left  wing.  We 
lined  up  and  advance  was  ordered;  and  I,  with 
MacMillan,  Wolf,  Hill,  et  al.,  advanced  through 
the  mill  and  down  a dense  thicket,  cutting  our 
way  through  with  knives,  but,  finding  nothing, 
we  returned  to  our  former  station,  where  Cols. 
Roosevelt  and  Wood  and  the  staff  officers  were, 
who  had  been  there  before.  We  had  quite  a 
rest  here,  and  a plan  of  guard  was  planned. 
Roosevelt  went  to  the  left.  We  advanced  with 
Hill’s  squad  to  hold  the  mill,  and  E.  advanced 
to  the  right.  We  stayed  in  the  mill  for  two 
hours  under  Serg.  Hill.  Lieut.  Goodrich  was 
there  early  in  the  guard.  Lieut.  Carr  came  in 
several  times,  and  Capt.  Huston  inspected  the 
post.  We  left  this  post  about  five  o’clock,  and, 
meeting  our  troop,  lined  up  in  front  of  sugar 
factory  or  distillery,  used  as  hospital  by  us, 
while  other  troops  advanced  by  us;  and  soon 
we  came  up  to  our  camp,  crossing  the  main  road 
from  Juragua  to  Quasimas,  the  scene  of  the 
battle.  The  battle  itself  lasted  about  two 
hours  and  a half,  from  about  eight  thirty  to 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


12 1 


eleven.  The  shots  seemed  to  come  from  all 
sides,  . . . but  we  fooled  the  Spaniards 

by  taking  the  less  frequented  road,  and  ad- 
vancing in  spite  of  fire.  Our  loss  in  the 
Regiment  was  9 killed  and  31  wounded.  Total 
loss,  17  killed  and  sixty  wounded.  Our  Rapid 
Fire  gun  was  rendered  useless  by  the  escape 
of  a packer  with  a mule  which  carried  the 
ammunition,  etc.  Capt.  Capron  shot  two 
Spaniards  just  before  he  was  killed. 

Hamilton  Fish  was  shot  through 
the  heart  and  died  instantly. 

Old  Doc  Doherty  was  shot 
in  the  head,  and  I think  died 
very  soon.  I saw  Ham  the 
night  before  at  Juragua,  and 
had  quite  a talk  with  him. 

Pitched  camp  about  five 
o’clock,  and  turned  in  early. 

I slept  in  a tent  cover  and  was 
quite  comfortable ; but  about  two 
o’clock  Russell  came  along  with- 
out anything,  not  even  a coat. 

I built  a fire  and  he  found  two 
coats,  and  slept  rest  of  night.  We  were  liable 
to  be  attacked,  so  were  somewhat  excited  all 
night.  I was  detailed  to  carry  in  dead,  and 
brought  Dawson  from  F.  Troop.  Fish  and 
seven  others  were  brought  right  to  camp 
and  laid  near  the  hospital. 


y 

Hamilton  Fish,  Jr. 


122 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


Saturday,  June  25th.* 1  Rustled  a fine  break- 
fast from  2nd.'>Mass.,  next  to  us,  and  pitched  a 
good  tent.  About  eleven  o’clock  the  troops 
were  called  to  ranks,  and  filed  out  to  the  grave 
dug  just  outside  the  camp  by  the  road.  It  was 
decided  by  the  Col.  that  they  had  best  be 
buried  on  the  scene  of  their  sacrifice.  The 
service  was  conducted  by  the  Chaplain  of  our 
Regiment,  and  the  men  were  covered  with 
branches  and  sticks,  then  the  dirt  thrown,  on. 
Ham  Fish  was  the  body  at  the  end  of  grave, 
near  the  hospital  quarters.  It  was  a very  im- 
pressive occasion.  The  bugle  was  blown  as  a 
parting  salute,  instead  of  firing,  and  the  troops 
were  dismounted.  I shaved  for  the  first  time 


1 The  morning  after  our  first  action,  that  upon  June  24th,  I 
started  for  the  spring  — a considerable  distance  from  camp  — 
with  a number  of  canteens  for  water,  including  that  of  your 
good  boy.  The  canteens  filled,  I started  to  return,  when  some 
thirsty  soldiers  marching  forward  from  the  rear  coming  up,  I 
passed  the  water  to  them,  and,  refilling,  hurried  for  camp. 
Just  as  I reached  it  I met  the  Mass,  boys  1 1 think  it  was) 
starting  for  the  front,  and  they  had  not  had  opportunity  to  fill 
their  canteens.  The  result  was  that  while  that  in  mine  lasted 
they  drank,  and  I turned  into  camp  empty-handed.  One  of 
our  corporals  hastened  to  meet  me  to  secure  his  canteen.  As 

I handed  it  to  him  I explained  the  cause  of  its  emptiness. 
His  face  took  on  an  expression  of  utter  contempt  and  disgust, 
and  he  turned  on  his  heel  without  a word.  I went  to  your 
son  and  repeated  word  for  word,  as  nearly  as  I could,  my  ex- 
cuse. « That  is  all  right,  Love,  I am  just  as  much  obliged,” 
— and  he  was,  more  than  likely,  more  obliged. — Letter  to  Mr. 
Miller  from  H.  K.  Love , Troop  D.,  1st  U.  S.  V.  C. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  12J 

since  the  Saturday  before,  and  rested,  for  it 
was  terribly  hot  and  I was  tired.  Bob  Wrenn 
wanted  me  to  go  for  water  and  a bath,  which  we 
did,  and  had  a great  trip  up  the  stream  in  search 
of  clear  water. 1 I had  gone  to  the  lower  stream 
the  night  before,  so  we  went  to  the  other. 
Had  an  excellent  bath.  On  our  return  we  looked 
up  Holt,  and  we  walked  over  the  battlefield 
together. 2 Found  my  discarded  stuff,  with  ex- 
ception of  blanket  and  gloves,  in  just  the  same 
place  I opened  it  up  — the  farthest  advanced 
point  of  any  forces  in  the  left  wing.  Returned 


1 At  a time  when  many  of  us  were  complaining  of  the  food 
and  the  hard  work  he  was  conspicuous  for  his  good  humor ; 
if  by  chance  he  agreed  with  the  complainer,  it  was  done  in 
some  joking  way  that  acted  like  a tonic  to  one’s  spirits.  In 
this  connection  I remember  my  feelings  on  an  afternoon 
shortly  after  our  first  engagement; — too  dirty  to  be  comfort- 
able, but  so  tired  out  that  the  walk  of  half  a mile  to  the  nearest 
stream  seemed  an  impossibility.  I lay  in  my  tent  decidedly 
miserable.  It  took  Theodore  only  a few  minutes  to  persuade 
me  to  join  him  for  a swim,  such  as  we  could  get,  and  he  had 
talked  me  into  so  cheerful  a frame  of  mind  before  our  return 
that  I look  back  on  that  afternoon  as  one  of  my  pleasantest 
in  Cuba. — Letter  to  Mr.  Miller  from  Robert  Wrenn. 

2 It  was  the  day  after  our  first  fight,  and  in  going  over  the 
battlefield  with  me  Ted  [Theodore]  had  found  his  knapsack, 
in  which  he  had  several  small  boxes  of  matches  — an  article 
very  scarce  in  camp.  Returning  we  met  some  of  the  2nd 
Cavalry  resting  by  the  road.  We  stopped  to  talk  with  them, 
and  one  of  them  asked  us  for  a match,  saying  that  no  one  in 
his  troop  had  any.  (<  Have  some  of  these,”  Ted  said,  and 
thereupon  gave  away  every  box  he  had  to  the  delighted 
soldiers. — Letter  to  Mr.  Miller  from  LI.  J.  Holt. 


124 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


to  camp  and  found,  much  to  my  surprise, 
Teddy  Burke  sitting  in  our  tent.  We  chatted 
awhile,  and  then  went  over  to  Bob  and  Bill  and 
had  a talk  over.  Teddy  told  of  the  reports 
that  had  come  into  Juragua.  Teddy  seemed 
quite  well,  but  looked  tired  and  weak.  We 
fixed  up  supper  and  soon  turned  in  for  the 
night.  Teddy  slept  at  the  bottom,  and  we  all 
rolled  down  on  him.  The  next  morning  we 
were  to  advance,  so  orders  were  to  rise  early 
and  be  prepared  to  march.  We  anticipated  an- 
other scrap,  but  learned  later  that  we  were  not 
to  be  the  advance. 

Sunday,  June  26th.  Teddy  seemed  pretty 
bad  this  morning,  so  he  went  to  hospital,  and 
La  Motte  said  he  had  a very  high  fever  and  could 
not  come  any  further.  He  lay  down  in  the 
hospital  under  their  care.  I went  up  to  see  him 
and  had  a talk;  then  saw  Doc.  La  Motte,  who 
said  he  had  a severe  case  of  typhoid  fever,  and 
must  go  back  immediately.  We  decided  that  I 
should  keep  his  rubber  blanket,  thanks  to 
Teddy,  and  I made  it  as  comfortable  for  him  as 
possible.  Then  I thought  I could  help  him  in 
town,  and  got  permission  from  the  Captain, 
after  a lot  of  red  tape,  and  fixed  up  everything 
in  my  pack,  and  put  it  with  hospital  stuff. 
The  Regiment  started  off  and  we  stayed  be- 
hind and  saw  them  off.  . . . Soon  the 

mules  came  and  we  all  mounted.  I took  my 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


125 


gun  and  cartridge  belt.  I told  Davis  and 
Whitney  about  Teddy,  and  Whitney  came  over 
to  see  him  before  we  left.  Got  in  town  all 
right  by  the  side  road,  and  over  the  ground  we 
came  on.  Teddy  simply  went  through  on  his 
sand.  Arrived  in  town  about  noon,  and  found 
the  hospital  O.  K.  Capt.  or  Serg.  Winter  took 
care  of  Teddy,  because  Remington  had  spoken 
to  him  the  night  before  about  Teddy.  He  was 
a fine  man,  and  let  me  help  Teddy  all  I could. 
I cooked  a most  delicious  meal  out  of  bacon, 
hard  tack  fried  and  sugar  on  it,  and  coffee.  I 
had  some  beans  too,  which  the  cook  gave  me. 
The  port  wine  which  I mentioned  above  as  be- 
ing at  this  place,  was  stored  in  barrels  in  the 
hospital;  and  while  I was  there  Rhodes  tried 
to  rustle  some  for  me,  but  I was  disappointed, 
for  he  could  not  get  any  out  while  I was  there. 
I walked  down  the  beach  after  dinner,  and 
tried  to  get  some  tobacco.  Succeeded  in  get- 
ting only  a Cuban  cigar  from  a Cuban,  for 
which  I gave  some  hard  tack,  which  I happened 
to  have  taken  with  me  from  camp. 

Several  Regiments  were  encamped  on  the 
beach,  and  several  men  were  in  swimming.  I 
inquired  of  some  71st  Regiment  men  for 
Mitchell,  whom  I saw  at  Tampa,  and  also 
Bruch,  the  latter  of  whom  had  remained  in 
N.  Y.  C.  They  were  making  good  use  of  the 
R.  R.,  and  the  little  village  took  on  a tone  of 


126 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


hustling  never  before  known  to  its  history,  I 
am  sure.  It  had  an  entirely  different  aspect  to 
that  known  to  us  from  our  first  visit. 

I returned  to  the  Hospital,  and  after  seeing 
the  fellows  again,  started  back  to  camp  alone 
about  3:15.  Met  several  men.  Some  walked 
on  a way  with  me,  talking  about  the  battle ; and 
later,  I met  the  newspaper  correspondent  who 
came  on  the  Yucatan.  We  had  a good  chat, 
and  I traded  some  water  for  some  matches,  and 
passed  on.  Arrived  at  our  old  camp  Quas- 
imas,  about  4:30  (very  good  time)  and  found 
that  the  hospital  stuff  had  not  gone  yet.  In 
our  camp  were  two  Cubans  picking  up  stuff 
that  they  could  find,  and  they  came  across  a 
Bible.  I explained  to  them  by  motions  and 
signs  that  it  was  our  religious  book,  and  they 
seemed  to  understand  quite  well.  I rested 
there  a moment,  and  then  took  a note  to  Col. 
Wood  from  Corporal  Cowden,  in  charge  of 
stuff  at  camp.  Met  two  pack  trains  of  mules 
returning  from  carrying  commissary  stuff  to 
the  Regiment.  I fell  in  with  a 1st  Cavalry- 
man, and  walked  to  camp  with  him.  On  our 
way  a Cuban  Regiment  was  just  breaking 
camp,  and  filed  out  into  the  road.  They  are  a 
queer  lot.  Very  small  men  and  horses,  and 
irregular  equipment.  They  carry  bags  and 
cocoanut  shells,  and  all  sorts  of  crude  apparatus 
for  cooking.  They  resemble  our  colored  peo- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


I27 


pie  of  the  North,  in  that  they  have  a more  in- 
telligent and  refined  character  in  their  faces. 
Not  so  black  as  our  negroes,  and  much 
more  active  and  energetic.  They  seem  greatly 
pleased  to  see  all  these  U.  S.  soldiers,  and  there 
is  a twinkle  in  every  eye  as  you  look  at  them. 
Cuba  Libre  is  their  call,  and  they  smiled  all 
over  when  we  shouted  that  at  them. 

After  some  difficulty  we  found  our  camp, 
and  I at  once  reported  to  Col.  Wood,  and  de- 
livered the  note  I had  for  him.  Then  reported 
to  Dr.  La  Motte  the  message  from  Capt.  Win- 
ter ; and  while  there  at  headquarters  Doc.  La 
Motte  spoke  to  Col.  Roosevelt  of  my  voluntary 
trip  to  town,  and  the  Col.  turned  and  thanked 
me  for  it,  calling  me  by  name.  Caspar  Whit- 
ney was  there  and  we  talked  about  Teddy  quite 
a deal.  The  camp  I found  very  comfortable  at 
first,  with  a fine  stream  running  just  behind  it, 
and  furnishing  splendid  water.  The  ground 
was  level  and  well  grassed,  so  everything  looked 
favorable;  but  when  it  rains  it  is  too  low  to 
shed  the  water,  and  will  be  damp  continually, 
I am  afraid.  I found  that  my  squad  had  put 
up  a double  tent,  and  had  things  fixed  pretty 
well.  I could  not  get  my  blankets  that  night, 
so  bunked  on  the  rest,  with  a poncho  only. 

Monday,  June  27th.  Loafed  about  and  rested 
all  day  in  camp,  and  it  was  so  terribly  hot  that 
I could  hardly  move.  I was  notified  that  I was 


128 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


to  be  put  on  guard  duty  at  five,  so  began  rest- 
ing up  for  it  early  in  the  day.  I reported  at 
five  o’clock  at  the  guardhouse,  and  was  put  on 
second  relief,  so  returned  to  tent  for  supper. 
Bill  Larned  was  on  third  relief,  but  I saw  little 
of  him  that  night.  I brought  back  my  rubber 
blanket  and  another  woolen  blanket,  coat,  etc., 
and  fixed  up  place  for  night  in  guardhouse. 
Went  on  at  seven  and  had  post  No.  4 at  the 
end  of  our  rows  of  tents,  between  first  Regular 
Cav.  and  our  camp.  Had  orders  to  keep  all 
Cubans  out,  and  stop  all  suspicious  persons. 
We  are  not  the  advance  Regiment  now,  so  our 
guard  duty  is  not  so  exciting  as  it  might  be. 

Extreme  post  is  called  Pickets. 

Next  to  that  is  called  Bedettes. 

Next  to  that  is  called  Reserve  Com. 

Next  to  that  is  called  Support  Regiment. 

General  Wheeler’s  headquarters  are  not  far 
from  our  camp,  so  we  have  practically  no  ad- 
vance guard  duty.  The  first  day’s  scouting  was 
done  by  our  Troop  under  Lieuts. , and  some 
extras  are  sent  out,  but  our  actual  duty  is  little 
in  this  regard.  The  nights  are  beautiful,  and 
I had  the  full  benefit  of  their  charm  between 
one  and  three  on  this  night.  Had  no  trouble 
of  any  sort,  and  allowed  the  time  to  pass  as 
rapidly  as  possible.  I was  on  again  at  seven. 

Tuesday,  June  28th.  This  day  was  passed 
on  guard  duty,  with  the  same  routine.  The 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  129 

passing  of  troops  along  the  road  varied  the 
monotony  somewhat.  Between  one  and  three 
I was  on  duty  again,  and  it  began  to  rain  early. 
It  was  a shower  at  first,  and  I thought  it  was 
over,  so  did  not  stop  to  get  any  protection. 
Soon  it  came  down  again  and  simply  poured. 
I never  saw  it  rain  harder  for  two  hours  con- 
secutively. Perhaps  that  is  exaggerated,  con- 
sidering our  Chautauqua  rains.  I soon  was 
wet,  then  became  careless,  and  consequently 
wetter,  then  absolutely  drenched.  When  my 
time  was  tip  I went  to  guardhouse  and  stripped, 
put  on  a dry  coat  and  blanket,  and  built  a fire 
with  great  difficulty,  on  account  of  dampness. 
Soon  we  had  guard  mount,  and  I was  dis- 
missed. Went  to  my  tent  and  cooked  a little 
supper,  fixed  my  gun  up,  and  turned  in  early. 

Wednesday,  June  29th.  Bill  Larned  came 
around  this  morning  to  get  me  to  go  out  for  a 
tramp  toward  the  city  of  Santiago.  I asked 
the  Captain  and  he  threw  me  down  hard;  so 
we  tried  to  get  permission  to  go  back  to 
Juragua,  since  Teddy  had  written  me  a note 
asking  me  to  come  in  and  see  him.  We  found 
we  could  not  go  in,  for  the  very  unpleasant  an- 
nouncement of  old  guard  fatigue  duty  met  our 
ears,  and  we  were  told  to  report  to  head- 
quarters. I was  put  on  a detail,  under  Lieut. 
Goodrich,  to  repair  the  road.  We  looked  up 
picks,  shovels,  etc.,  and  started  out,  reminding 
9 


130 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


me  very  much  of  the  street  cleaning  gang  at 
home,  as  they  used  to  file  out  of  the  station 
house.  We  first  marched  down  the  road  a 
quarter  of  a mile,  and  there  met  a Regular 
officer,  who  ordered  us  back  again.  The  road 
was  a simple  stream  of  mud,  with  a spattering 
of  huge  rocks.  We  found  our  place,  and  be- 
gan picking  out  the  big  stones  and  broadening 
the  road.  This  is  the  main  road  from  Juragua 
to  Santiago,  but  having  been  used  for  mules 
and  carrying  only,  was  not  fit  for  wagons;  so 
we  have  to  fix  it  up  for  the  army  wagons  con- 
tinually passing.  We  are  improving  the  coun- 
try to  that  extent  anyway.  Later  we  went  up 
the  road,  and  with  a detail  from  2nd  Infantry, 
colored  troops,  built  a turn  off  for  empty 
wagons  returning.  Had  dinner  later,  and  was 
just  about  tuckered  out  with  the  work  on  the 
road  in  the  hot  sun,  when  orders  came  to 
report  at  one  o’clock  at  H.  Q.  for  further  orders. 
We  found  waiting  for  us  here  a job  that  had 
been  attempted  by  Bill  Larned  and  his  squad 
in  the  morning,  and  consisted  of  building  some 
benches  for  the  officers’  mess.  At  noon  the 
officers  were  thoroughly  enjoying  their  meal, 
sitting  on  their  benches,  when  R.  H.  Davis 
came  along  with  his  plate  and  cup,  and  sat 
down  with  a comfortable  relaxation,  when  it 
suddenly  crashed  under  his  weight.  It  became 
our  duty,  and  I suppose,  privilege,  to  build  an- 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  iji 

other  stronger  one  in  place  of  this  broken  one. 
It  was  threatening  rain  when  we  came,  so  I 
brought  a poncho  with  me, 
and,  sure  enough,  as  we 
started  work,  it  began  to 
pour.  We  took  shelter 
under  officers’  head- 
quarters and  waited  for 
rain  to  stop ; then  finished 
our  work.  We  thought 
this  would  certainly  end 
our  day’s  work,  but  de- 
cided differently  when  they 
ordered  us  over  to  help  un- 
load the  commissary  stuff, 
hard  tack,  bacon,  tents,  etc., 
by  the  wagon  load.  Bill  Larned  and  I got 
aboard  one  wagon  to  load  up  some  stuff  to  take 
down  to  another  Regiment.  We  had  quite  a 
ride  and  a terrible  shaking  up,  but  did  not  re- 
port back  at  the  squad,  thus  escaping,  perhaps, 
a lot  more  of  work.  We  had  certainly  done  our 
legitimate  share,  as  some  days  the  fatigue  duty 
is  omitted  altogether.  I felt  pretty  well  done 
up  that  night,  and  had  the  first  bad  feelings,  a 
pain  in  my  stomach,  which  I think  came  from 
eating  so  much  grease,  and  perhaps  from  my 
wetting.  I had.  felt  great  the  last  few  days,  in 
fact,  never  better  in  my  life ; but  our  food  has 
been  nothing  but  bacon,  hard  tack  and  coffee. 


IJ2  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

We  fried  our  bacon,  then  took  the  grease  and 
fried  hard  tack,  sometimes  having  soaked  it  in 
water  before  frying,  but  generally  without. 
But  such  is  army  life,  and  one  must  take  it  as 
it  is.  I am  satisfied.  Things  to-day  looked  as 
though  we  were  going  to  stay  here  for  weeks 
to  come.  There  was  a rumor  of  an  armistice, 
but  not  verified.  We  are  only  a few  miles 
from  the  city,  which  can  be  seen  from  the  top 
of  the  hills  near  by.  They  say  it  is  strongly 
fortified,  and  a formidable  antagonist.  We  hope 
that  we  may  capture  it  as  a Fourth  of  July 
celebration.  I turned  in  early  to-night. 

I end  this  here  and  mail  it  home. 

Thursday,  June  30th.  This  morning  my 
surprise  was  complete  at  the  arrival  of  mail. 
A letter  from  mother,  Marne,  Grace,  Brown, 
Judd,  telegram  from  father.  Teddy  had  a big 
batch.  Sent  them  to  him. 

About  two  o’clock,  after  we  had  spent  morn- 
ing in  fixing  up  our  camp,  orders  came  to 
break  camp;  so  we  packed  up  and  got  under 
way  about  four  o’clock;  marched  about  two 
miles,  and  arrived  by  moonlight  on  an  emi- 
nence about  two  miles  and  a half  from  the  city. 
Passed  several  Cuban  Regiments.  Arrived  about 
ten  o’clock  after  tiresome  march,  on  account  of 
delay.  Camp  was  an  old  building,  mostly  in 
ruins,  occupied  by  Cubans.  Probably  a monas- 
tery. Had  cold  supper  and  turned  in  soon. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  ijj 

Friday,  July  ist.  A week  ago  had  our  bat- 
tle. I went  up  on  a hill  in  advance,  and  got  a 
glimpse  of  an  outpost;  small  village  occupied 
by  Spaniards.  Bombarding  began  about  twenty 
minutes  after  six,  and  was  centered  on  a small 
village  in  our  rear.  About  an  hour  later,  after 
constant  bombardment,  a skirmish  took  place. 
Must  stop.  Now  in  line.  Good-bye;  will  send 
this.  Please  excuse  mistakes,  for  I have  writ- 
ten in  a hurry. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


The  last  entry  in  Theodore’s  diary  was  made 
as  he  stood  in  line,  awaiting  the  order  to  ad- 
vance against  the  outposts  of  Santiago.  Soon 
after  sunrise  on  the  first  of  July,  the  Ameri- 
can field  artillery  had  begun  to  bombard  the 
trenches  in  front  of  the  city.  The  Spaniards 
replied,  and  a large  shell  exploded  just  over 
the  heads  of  the  Rough  Riders.  For  a time 
the  troops  were  ordered  to  protect  themselves 
beyond  the  crest  of  a neighboring  hill.  Soon 
the  order  to  advance  was  received.  The  com- 
mand made  a detour  of  a mile  and  a half. 
Leaving  behind  their  heavy  packs,  they  crossed 
a stream  and  entered  an  open  field.  Through 
this  they  made  their  way  by  a series  of  rushes 
until  they  gained  the  protection  of  a stream 
which  had  cut  its  course  between  rather  steep 
banks.  The  men  stood  knee-deep  in  water, 
while  the  bullets  whistled  over  their  heads  and 
the  shrapnel  burst  with  startling  frequency. 
After  a half  hour  of  this  trying  experience, 
the  troops  were  ordered  into  an  adjoining  field. 
Again  they  pushed  on  toward  the  enemy.  The 
Rough  Riders  arrived  in  time  to  take  part  in  a 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


135 


charge  upon  a blockhouse,  of  which  the  Amer- 
icans soon  gained  possession.  From  this  point 
of  vantage  they  fired  into  the  trenches  of  a sec- 
ond position  which  the  enemy  had  taken  near 
another  blockhouse.  Lieutenant  Goodrich  at 
this  time  lay  down  in  the  firing  line  beside 
Theodore,  and  reports  him  as  (<  enjoying  him- 
self immensely.”  It  is  easy  to  fancy  with  what 
ardor  Theodore  had  taken  part  in  the  day’s 
fighting. 1 

After  a brief  rest  the  troops  were  again  or- 
dered to  advance.  Just  as  they  were  about  to 
reach  the  protection  of  a rise  of  ground,  a vol- 
ley from  the  Spanish  mausers  was  poured  into 
their  line.  Five  men  dropped  almost  at  the 
same  instant,  and  among  them  was  Theodore. 
Love,  who  was  near  him,  called: 

<(  Miller,  I will  come  to  you  in  a minute.  ” 

(<  That  is  all  right,  Love,  don’t  bother  about 
me,”  was  the  response. 2 

Holt,  another  comrade,  remained  with  his 
wounded  friend,  who  whispered : 

<(  I'm  going,  Harry,  but  it’s  in  a good  cause, 
isn’t  it? » 3 

1 When  he  was  wounded  a little  later,  his  belt  contained 
thirty  cartridges  of  the  original  supply  of  one  hundred  and  ten. 
— Letter  of  A.  P.  Russell,  Sept,  sg,  i8gS. 

2 From  a letter  of  H.  K.  Love  to  Mr.  Lewis  Miller,  dated 
Camp  Wykoff,  Aug.  23,  1898. 

3 From  a letter  of  Flarrison  Jewell  Holt  to  Mr.  Lewis  Miller 
(undated),  written  in  Aug.  or  Sept.,  1898. 


Ij6  Theodore  Westivood  Miller 

Within  a short  time  Lieutenant  Goodrich 
hastened  up.  The  first  examination  disclosed 
in  the  left  shoulder,  a wound  which  the  men 
did  not  regard  as  serious.  A closer  examina- 
tion, however,  revealed  a second  wound  in  the 
right  shoulder.  It  was  then  evident  that  the 
bullet  had  entered  the  left  shoulder,  been  de- 
flected by  the  shoulder  blade,  had  traversed 
the  body,  and  passed  out  through  the  right 
shoulder.  The  spinal  cord  had  been  so  injured 
that  the  body  below  the  shoulders  was  para- 
lyzed. 

Theodore  was  unwilling  at  first  to  have  his 
friends  remain  with  him,  and  urged  them  to  go 
to  the  front.  He  whispered  in  the  ear  of 
Lieutenant  Goodrich  that  he  found  it  hard  to 
breathe,  but  that  otherwise  he  felt  little  pain. 
The  Lieutenant  dii'ected  fwo  men  to  look  after 
his  old  playfellow,  secured  the  services  of  a 
hospital  attendant,  and  then  hastened  back  to 
his  post  of  duty. 1 

In  a short  time  six  privates2  were  detailed 
to  carry  Theodore  to  the  division  hospital. 
They  cut  two  poles,  between  which  they  fast- 

1 This  account  of  the  day  is  based  chiefly  upon  statements  in  a 
letter  of  Lieutenant  Goodrich  to  Mrs.  Lewis  Miller, dated  Camp 
Hamilton,  Santiago  de  Cuba,  Aug.  5,  1898. 

2 « When  he  was  shot  they  detailed  Messrs.  Harry  Holt,  Dorcy 
Miller,  Ben.  Miller,  Loughmiller,  my  brother,  and  myself  to  carry 
him  back  to  the  division  hospital. B — Letter  of  Clare  H.  Stewart 
to  Miss  Alary  Miller,  Nov.  6,  i8g8. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


137 


ened  a blanket,  and  upon  this  rude  stretcher 
they  bore  their  comrade  to  the  recently  cap- 
tured blockhouse,  which  had  already  been 
turned  into  a hospital.  Here  Theodore’s  wound 
was  dressed,  and  then  the  journey  to  the  rear 
was  resumed.  The  field  hospital  was  five  miles 
from  the  front.  The  party  halted  about  half 
way  at  a temporary  hospital  camp,  where  the 
wound  was  dressed  a second  time.  Thus  Theo- 
dore received  exceptional  care  very  promptly 
after  his  fall. 

During  all  the  journey  the  wounded  soldier’s 
chief  anxiety  seemed  to  be  for  those  who  were 
bearing  him.  <(  Boys,”  he  kept  saying,  (<  this  is 
mighty  good  of  you.  I’m  afraid  I’m  tiring  you 
all  out.  ” 1 Although  he  must  have  suffered 
some  physical,  as  well  as  great  mental  distress, 
his  genuinely  unselfish  nature  asserted  itself. 
His  anxiety  was  for  others,  not  for  himself. 

The  field  hospital,  planned  for  fifty  wounded, 
was  overwhelmed  by  the  unexpected  burden 
put  upon  it.  Some  four  hundred  men  were 
lying  without  shelter  on  the  ground  near  the 
hospital  tents.  The  surgeons,  however,  were 
indefatigable,  and  the  men,  in  spite  of  exposure, 
were  looked  after  as  well  as  the  conditions 
would  permit.  Theodore’s  friends  improvised 
for  him  a bed,  and  saw  to  it  that  his  wound  was 

lFrom  a letter  of  Harrison  Jewell  Holt  to  Lewis  Miller. 
(Undated.) 


Ij8  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

dressed  again.  With  words  of  good  cheer,  to 
which  he  responded  pluckily,  they  left  him  and 
made  their  way  back  to  their  command. 

In  the  absence  of  exact  information,  it  is  im- 
possible to  trace  in  complete  detail  the  course 
of  events  from  this  point  to  the  end.  From  al- 
lusions in  various  letters  it  seems  probable  that 
after  the  first  night  Theodore  was  under  shelter. 


Site  of  the  Hospital,  Siboney 

On  the  third  day  he  was  removed  in  an  ambu- 
lance cart  to  Siboney.  There  he  was  put  under 
the  charge  of  the  Red  Cross  Society,  which  had 
improvised  fairly  good  hospitals  from  some  of 
the  abandoned  buildings  in  the  little  port. 

All  accounts  agree  in  asserting  that  Theodore 
had  the  best  of  care  during  the  four  days  of 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  ijg 

life  which  remained  to  him.  He  was  under 
the  immediate  charge  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Lesser 
of  the  Red  Cross  Society,  and  he  was  faithfully 
tended  by  trained  nurses  of  that  organization. 
Whatever  hardships  may  have  been  endured 
by  other  soldiers,  it  would  seem  that  Theodore 
was  peculiarly  fortunate  in  the  skilled  and  sym- 
pathetic care  which  he 
received.  A surgical 
operation  was  under- 
taken, but  in  the  cir- 
cumstances it  was,  of 
course,  futile. 

It  is  evident  from 
many  letters  that  The- 
odore, even  in  his  hours 
of  weakness,  continued 
to  win  the  admiration 
and  friendship  of  all 
with  whom  he  came  in 
contact.  Mrs.  Lesser 
showed  especial  solici- 
tude for  him.1  His 
convalescent  comrades  in  the  hospital  were  ever 
ready  to  sit  by  his  side  and  to  render  such  aid 

1 . . . (<  I want  to  pay  tribute  to  the  Red  Cross  Society,  in 

whose  hospital  he  died,  and  in  particular  to  Mrs.  Lesser,  who 
made  his  last  few  hours  as  easy  as  constant  skilled  care  and 
nursing  could  possibly  do.  She  made  Theodore,  or  Teddy,  as 
we  called  him,  her  constant  and  particular  care. n . . . 

■ — Letter  of  IV.  Frank  Knox  to  Robert  A.  Miller,  July  18,  i8g8. 


Dr.  Lesser 


i^-o 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


as  they  could.  Toward  all,  Theodore  showed 
unfailing  courtesy  and  gratitude.  Chaplain 
Charles  H.  Sage,  who  saw  Theodore  frequently 
in  the  hospital,  writes  feelingly : 


<(  Among  all  those  who  went  down  or  suffered  in  the 
struggle  and  with  whom  I came  in  contact  and  became 
somewhat  acquainted,  during  my  service  in  Siboney,  I 
found  no  one  more  resigned,  more  brave,  and  more 
thankful  for  the  few  little  favors  that 
we  were  enabled  to  give  him  than 
was  your  brother.  w 1 

Mr.  Caspar  Whitney, 
who  visited  Theodore 
in  the  hospital,  says: 

« He  was  resting  com- 
fortably; he  had  no  pain; 
and  yet  the  character  of 
his  wound  was  such  that 
every  word  uttered  was  a 
great  effort;  yet  he  never  failed 
to  gasp,  < thank  you,>  to  every 
little  attention,  and  appeared  to 
worry  more  lest  he  give  his 
friends  trouble  than  about  his  hurt.  He  was  a brave 
boy  in  the  ranks,  and  a most  patient,  considerate,  and 
truly  brave  one  in  the  hospital.®1 2 


Mrs.  Lesser 


The  letters  show  some  difference  of  opinion 
as  to  the  acuteness  of  Theodore’s  physical  suf- 
fering. The  weight  of  testimony  seems  to  be 


1From  a letter  to  John  V.  Miller,  Sept.  24,  1898. 

2 From  a letter  to  Mr.  Lewis  Miller,  dated  Nov.  1,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


H1 

in  favor  of  the  theory  that  he  suffered  little 
pain,  other  than  the  sense  of  oppression  in 
breathing.  It  was  obviously  difficult  for  him  to 
speak,  but  it  is  a source  of  satisfaction  to  his 
family  and  friends  to  believe  that  he  was  spared 
acute  bodily  suffering. 

It  is  also  hard  to  say  whether  he  realized  that 
his  wound  was  mortal. 1 He  seems  to  have 
taken  a cheerful  view  of  the  situation,  and  it  is 
known  that  he  was  especially  anxious  to  have 
the  brightest  side  of  his  case  reported  to  his 
mother.  This  anxiety  for  her,  however,  would 
be  so  natural  to  him  that  he  would  in  any  event 
wush  only  the  most  favorable  news  to  reach 
her.  Whether  he  knewr  or  not  that  his  recov- 
ery was  impossible,  he  showred  consistently  to 
the  very  end  the  genuine  Christian  courtesy 
and  manly  courage  which  were  the  very  fibre 
of  his  character.  One  afternoon  as  Theodore 
lay  at  Siboney  a letter  came  from  his  brother 
Robert.  It  was  read  to  him  by  Knox,  to  whom 
the  wounded  soldier,  in  painfully  drawn  breaths, 
talked  of  the  home  at  Akron,  of  his  father  and 
mother,  and  of  the  longed-for-return  to  his 
loved  ones. 

1 Knox  declares  in  his  letter  that  <(  not  till  [even  at]  the  last 
did  he  [Theodore]  suspect  that  his  end  was  near,”  while  Ost- 
rom,  another  hospital  acquaintance,  reports  Theodore  as  say- 
ing that  he  was  going  to  die  and  begging  that  his  love  be  sent  to 
his  family. — Letter  of  Albert  Ostrom  to  Miss  Mary  Miller,  Nov.  q, 
i8g8. 


142 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


His  last  letter  to  his  family  was  dictated  on 
the  seventh  of  July,  the  day  before  he  died. 
It  reads  as  follows: 

(<  Dear  Mamma:  A rather  narrow  escape,  but  feel  sure 
I will  pull  through  all  right.  Teddy  Burke  and  Mr. 
Remington  have  done  all  that  was  possible  in  getting 
extra  things.  Mr.  Whitney  offered  to  write  you,  but 
Mr.  McClure  had  offered  before,  so  he  did  so.  You 
must  not  worry  about  this  thing,  for  Dr.  Lesser,  who  is 
here  just  now,  and  who  is  at  the  head  of  the  Red  Cross 
of  America,  said  [I]  would  come  out  all  [right]  soon. 
He  said  he  was  going  to  write  to  you  himself.  They  are 
doing  everything  that  they  can  for  me. 

« I remain  your  most  loving  son,  and  will  be  with  you 
soon.  Good  bye.® 

On  the  eighth  the  end  came.  The  day  be- 
fore he  had  fallen  into  a stupor,  from  which  he 
never  fully  wakened.  It  was  a little  after  noon 
that  he  died.  One  of  his  hospital  companions 
thus  describes  the  scene: 

« 1 sat  by  him  the  next  day  as  long  as  I could  sit  up, 
and  then  lay  down  on  a cot  near  by  (I  was  on  the  sick 
list  myself)  and  fell  into  a doze,  and  when  I awoke  he 
had  left  us.  1 went  up  and  sat  down,  and  had  a long 
look  at  his  face.  Around  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were 
traces  of  that  patient  smile  that  he  had  worn  so  bravely 
through  it  all.  ® 1 

Theodore  was  buried  the  same  afternoon 
about  five  o’clock  by  a detail  from  the  Thirty- 

1From  a letter  of  W.  Frank  Knox  to  Mr.  Robert  A.  Miller, 
dated,  (<  Hampton  Roads,®  July  8,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


H3 


third  Michigan  Volunteers.  The  services  were 
conducted  by  Rev.  Charles  H.  Sage,  Chaplain 
of  that  regiment.  The  grave  was  situated  on 
a hillside  baclc  of  the  hospital,  and  overlooking 
the  bay  of  Siboney. 

A headboard  was  put  in  place  upon  which 
Theodore’s  name  was  marked  by  Mr.  Knox. 


Later,  at  the  suggestion  of 
Lieutenant  Goodrich,  the 
grave  was  further  marked 
by  the-  burying  of  a bottle 
containing  name  and  ad- 
dress. In  this  way  the 
identity  of  the  body  was 
afterward  established  be- 
yond any  question. 

The  announcement  of 
Theodore’s  death  caused 
deep  sorrow  among  his 
late  companions  in  arms. 
Burke  describes  the  effect 
of  the  tidings  as  word  was 


The  Grave  at  Siboney 


passed  along  the  picket  line.  <(As  it  was 
whispered  down  the  line,  I saw  many,  who 
had  become  thoroughly  hardened  to  the  sights 
and  suffering  of  war,  overcome  with  grief,  and 
during  the  rest  of  our  relief  hardly  a word 
was  spoken.”  Holt  also  comments  upon  the 
sadness  of  the  men,  and  he  reports  one  west- 
erner as  saying,  <(  He  [Theodore]  was  sure  all 


144-  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

right  ® — the  highest  praise  which  the  cowboy 
can  formulate. 

The  news  of  Theodore’s  wounding  did  not 
reach  the  family  in  Akron  until  the  eleventh  of 
July,  -when  a telegram  was  received  from  John. 
The  newspaper  reports  confused  initials  and 
the  letters  of  the  troops  so  that,  although  the 


View  from  the  Siboney  cemetery 


fact  of  Theodore’s  wounding  was  telegraphed,  it 
was  not  recognized  by  his  family. 

In  the  following  chapter  Mr.  John  Miller 
describes  the  sad  journey  from  Siboney  to 
Akron.  The  officers  of  the  War  Department 
showed  keen  sympathy  for  Mr.  Lewis  Miller, 
and  did  all  in  their  power  to  further  his  plans 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  14.5 

for  bringing-  Theodore’s  body  home.  It  was 
due  chiefly  to  their  cooperation  that  the  task 
was  accomplished  so  easily,  in  circumstances 
which  seemed  peculiarly  difficult  and  baffling. 1 


H<  Great  sympathy  and  kindness  were  shown  to  Mr.  Miller  by 
all  the  officials  that  could  render  any  aid.  Surely  no  complaint 
should  be  heard  against  so  noble  a set  of  officials  who  have 
been  so  willing  and  ready  to  do  what  was  in  their  power  to  lend 
a helping  hand  when  needed.” — From  a statement  prepared 
by  Lewis  Miller  in  December,  1898. 


CHAPTER  IX1 


It  was  not  until  the  sixth  of  August  that  I 
received  at  Guantanamo  a message  from  Gen- 
eral Shatter  informing- 
me  that  I might  go  to 
Siboney  and  remove 
Theodore’s  body 
north.  Immediately 
obtaining  the  neces- 
sary orders  and  per- 
mission from  Admiral 
Sampson,  I pro- 
ceeded on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  on  the 
U.  S.  converted  yacht 
Vixen , to  Santiago. 
On  my  way  there  I 
made  arrangements 
with  Mr.  Samuel  S. 
Mullin  to  help  me  in 

Ensign  John  V.  Miller  , , 

my  work  at  Siboney. 
Mr.  Mullin,  very  fortunately,  was  a profes- 
sional undertaker  from  Syracuse,  and  was  on 
his  way  to  obtain  the  bodies  of  two  soldiers 


This  chapter  was  written  by  Mr.  John  V.  Miller. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


14-7 


who  had  fallen  in  battle.  He  and  his  com- 
panion, Mr.  A.  C.  Haeselbarth,  immediately 
took  great  interest  in  my  plans  and  with  the 
greatest  kindness  offered  all  the  assistance 
they  could  give. 

We  arrived  in  Santiago  on  Sunday  afternoon 
about  two  o’clock.  Necessary  arrangements 
were  immediately  made  through  General  Shat- 
ter and  General  Wood,  and  on  the  following 
morning  we  three,  Messrs.  Mullin,  and  Haesel- 
barth, and  I,  accompanied  by  a man  from  San- 
tiago, proceeded  to  Siboney  with  the  casket 
which  father  had  sent  from  New  York.  We 
were  extremely  fortunate  in  being  able  to  go 
by  the  railway,  which  had  been  but  lately  re- 
paired for  the  use  of  the  army  for  transporting 
supplies. 

About  eleven  o’clock  we  arrived  at  Siboney, 
the  train  stopping  within  one  hundred  yards 
of  the  hospital.  This  occupies  the  place  where 
formerly  were  located  a few  Cuban  houses  and 
huts.  These  had  been  burned  some  weeks  be- 
fore as  a precaution  against  yellow  fever.  It 
was  in  one  of  these  houses  that  Theodore  had 
died. 

Siboney,  as  it  is  now  commonly  called,  but 
properly  Altares,  is  a small  railway  settlement 
located  on  a small  bay  some  fifteen  miles  east 
of  Santiago.  On  either  side  of  the  bay,  to  the 
east  and  west,  rise  two  high  hills  which  form 


I j-8  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

the  opening  of  a large  valley.  It  was  on  the 
hill  to  the  west  that  Theodore  had  been  buried. 


View  from  the  Grave 


At  the  foot  of  this  hill  the  original  hospital  had 
stood,  and  in  August  the  new  tent  hospital  had 
taken  its  place.  Siboney  at  this  time  consisted 
of  these  hospital  tents,  two  railway  buildings, 
and  a small  camp  near  the  beach  belonging  to 
the  commissary  department  of  the  army. 

I reported  at  once  to  Major  Markley,  in 
charge  of  the  hospital,  and  with  him  started  in 
search  of  Theodore’s  grave,  a description  of 
which  I had  received  from  Mr.  W.  J.  Chamber- 
lain,  the  correspondent  of  the  New  York  Sun , 
who  had  received  it  from  the  authorities  of  the 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  14.9 

hospital  early  in  July.  We  made  our  way  up 
the  path  or  rough  trail  along  the  edge  of  the 
hill  and  soon  came  upon  an  open  space  forming 
a burial  ground.  Upon  one  of  the  boards 
which  marked  the  graves  could  be  distinctly 
seen  — 


Theo. 

Miller 

«D  » 1 U.  S.  V.  C. 


So  here,  just  one  month  before,  on  July  eighth, 
Theodore  had  been  buried. 

Theodore’s  grave,  with  about  ten  others,  oc- 
cupied a cleared  space  a little  way  up  the  hill 
and  some  six  or  seven  hundred  yards  from  the 
shore.  Five  of  these  graves  were  marked  with 
boards  and  arranged  in  two  rows  running  up 
the  hill.  Theodore’s  was  the  first  one  in  the 
row  towards  the  hospital.  Close  by  were  the 
ruins  of  an  old  Spanish  blockhouse.  From 
the  grave  could  be  seen,  on  the  left,  the  beau- 
tiful valley  running  far  inland,  in  front  the 
small  bay  and  the  sea,  and  to  the  right  the  hos- 
pital tents  and  the  shore  stretching  out  towards 
Santiago.  The  space  seemed  to  form  a part  of 


/50  Theodore  Westzvood  Miller 

an  old  path  or  trail,  over  which  the  Rough 
Riders  had  passed  on  their  way  to  the  battle  of 
Las  Quasimas  and  towards  Santiago. 

The  grave  was  very  distinctly  marked,  both 
by  the  board,  on  which  Mr.  Joseph  Young  and 
Major  Bryan  of  the  8th  Ohio  Volunteers  had 
renewed  the  name  and  marking,  and  by  a bot- 
tle which  was  buried  in  the  grave  and  which 
contained  a paper  on  which  was  written  Theo- 
dore’s name,  his  troop  and  regiment,  and  his 
home  address. 


The  Headboard 


About  two  o’clock  the  body  was  transferred 
from  the  grave  to  the  casket  and  carried  by  a 
detail  of  soldiers  to  the  train.  At  three  o’clock 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


151 

we  left  Siboney  and  the  sad  journey  home  was 
begun.  The  railway  runs  close  to  the  shore  as 
far  as  Aguadores,  where  it  turns  sharply  to- 
wards Santiago.  At  Aguadores  could  be  seen 
the  old  fort  and  battlements  which  had  been 
destroyed  by  our  guns.  Here,  also,  was  the 
bridge  which  the  Spaniards  partly  destroyed 
in  order  to  prevent  the  Americans  from  using 
the  railway  for  transporting  troops. 

At  four  o’clock  we  arrived  in  Santiago  and 
the  casket  was  immediately  transported  to  the 
shipping  piers  and  placed  for  the  night  in  one 
of  the  commissary  department’s  buildings,  pro- 
tected by  a guard  from  the  regular  army 
through  the  kindness  of  Lieutenant  F.  H.  Law- 
ton.  Very  fortunately  transportation  was  se- 
cured on  La  Grande  Dnchcsse  of  the  Plant 
system,  which  was  to  transport  north  one 
brigade  of  the  71st  N.  Y.  Volunteers  under 
Colonel  Downs  and  the  16th  Infantry  of  the 
Regular  Army.  Accordingly,  about  ten  o’clock 
on  Tuesday,  August  9th,  Theodore’s  body 
was  placed  on  a barge  and  soon  taken  out  to 
the  ship.  On  account  of  the  great  amount  of 
supplies  to  be  gotten  aboard,  and  although 
the  captain  and  officers  of  the  ship  did  all  in 
their  power,  it  was  impossible  to  transfer  the 
casket  to  the  ship  until  late  in  the  afternoon. 
It  was  placed  in  the  after  cabin  in  a place  little 
used. 


I§2  Theodore  Westzvood  Miller 

On  account  of  an  accident  to  the  steering 
apparatus  the  ship  was  considerably  delayed, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  following  morning  that 
we  sailed  out  of  the  harbor,  passing  the  Merri- 
mac,  the  Rcina  Mercedes , and  Morro  Castle. 
As  we  passed  under  the  shadow  of  this  very 
old  and  interesting  fortress  all  the  men  cheered, 
and  the  band  played  <(  The  Star-Spangled  Ban- 
ner ” in  honor  of  Old  Glory,  which  waved  high 
over  the  battlements.  Theodore,  who  lay 
quietly  in  death  on  board  the  ship,  had  done 
much  in  gaining  this  place  for  our  flag,  but 
could  not  join  with  the  rest  in  enjoying  the 
glorious  result  of  his  efforts  and  sufferings. 

The  ship  taking  the  Eastern  Passage,  we 
soon  passed  Aguadores,  Siboney,  Baiquiri, 
where  Theodore,  with  the  Rough  Riders, 
had  landed  seven  weeks  before,  and  Guantan- 
amo. Towards  evening  we  rounded  the  end 
of  the  island,  sighting  the  lighthouse  at  Cape 
Mairi. 

All  aboard  were  very  quiet,  as  most  of  the 
men  were  too  weak  to  be  about.  The  ship  had 
on  board  about  twelve  hundred  men,  the  ma- 
jority of  whom  occupied  staterooms  as  the 
Grande  Duchcsse  was  a good-sized  passenger 
ship.  The  band,  although  quite  weak  them- 
selves, entertained  and  cheered  the  rest  several 
times  during  the  trip.  The  men  had  the  regu- 
lar traveling  rations,  but,  although  there  was  a 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


!53 


large  supply  of  this  aboard,  it  was  of  such  a 
kind  that,  in  their  weak  condition,  few  could 
eat  it. 

After  a long,  hard,  but  smooth  voyage,  we 
finally  sighted  Montauk  Point  about  eleven 
o’clock,  August  15th,  and  at  four  o’clock  we 
had  rounded  the  point  and  dropped  anchor  in 
Fort  Pond  Bay.  Here  we  received  the  joyful 
news  of  the  signing  of  the  Protocol,  which  was 
greeted  with  many  and  very  enthusiastic  hur- 
rahs by  every  soldier  aboard,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  two,  for  with  Theodore  lay  another  hero 
who  had  passed  away  to  his  everlasting  rest 
that  morning. 

It  was  with  a feeling  of  tremendous  relief 
that  we  saw  the  shore  of  Long  Island  which 
was  to  everyone  on  board  (<  home,”  whether  we 
came  from  the  west  or  the  east,  from  the  north 
or  the  south,  for  it  was  a part  of  our  much  be- 
loved country.  We  had  expected  to  go  ashore 
immediately,  but  we  wTere  sadly  disappointed. 
The  quarantine  officers,  deciding  that  one  of 
the  three  deaths  which  had  occurred  during  the 
voyage,  was  due  to  the  so-called  yellow  fever, 
compelled  us  to  remain  on  the  ship  until  all 
could  be  disinfected  which,  in  spite  of  all  the 
officers  of  the  71st  and  16th  could  do,  occupied 
four  long  and  trying  days.  The  sick  were  first 
removed,  then  the  privates,  and  finally,  on 
Friday,  the  officers. 


I 54  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

Extremely  welcome  was  the  news,  on  the 
day  after  reaching  Montauk,  that  brother  Ed 
was  on  shore  waiting  for  me.  As  it  seemed 
that  I would  be  considerably  delayed  on  the 
ship,  and  then  five  days  in  the  detention  camp, 
it  was  decided  that  Ed  should  start  at  once  for 
home  with  the  casket.  Accordingly  late  Wed- 
nesday evening  it  was  taken  ashore  on  the  Ma- 
rine Hospital  Service  barge  where  it  was  given 
over  to  the  charge  of  Ed.  Through  unneces- 
sary delay  and  misunderstanding  concerning 
health  officer’s  papers,  he  could  not  proceed  to 
New  York  until  Friday,  August  19th.  Upon 
reaching  there  the  casket  was  immediately 
transferred  to  the  Erie  station  in  Jersey  City. 

In  the  meantime  I had  come  ashore  shortly 
after  Ed  left  Montauk,  and  very  unexpectedly 
escaped  the  five  days’  detention  camp.  Accord- 
ingly it  was  possible  for  me,  on  the  following 
day,  August  20th,  to  join  Ed,  and  we,  together 
with  Charles  Hemenway,  left  Jersey  City  by 
the  Erie  Railway  about  two  o’clock  in  the 
afternoon. 

At  seven  o’clock  Sunday  morning,  August 
2 1 st,  Theodore’s  body  reached  Akron,  and  was 
met  by  Father,  Ira,  Robert,  Lew,  Mr.  Marvin, 
and  Mr.  Billow,  who  immediately  took  charge 
of  the  casket.  Thus  in  silence  Theodore, 
after  an  absence  of  eight  months,  returned 
home  after  a most  pleasant  and  honored  life 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


155 


among  the  heroic  Rough  Riders  and  after  a 
glorious  death  in  the  land  of  the  enemy  and  in 
the  front  ranks  of  our  glorious  army,  fighting 
for  his  country,  and  for  a cause  in  which  he 
thoroughly  believed. 

Although  this  little  account  has  already  been 
somewhat  personal,  I would  like  to  take  this 
opportunity  to  express  openly  my7  gratitude  to 
Almighty  God,  who  surely  guided  and  pro- 
tected me  and  made  it  possible  to  bring  back 
Theodore's  body  to  his  home. 


CHAPTER  X 


The  tidings  that  Theodore’s  body  had  been 
brought  home  were  sent  quickly  to  the  friends 
who  were  awaiting  the  summons.  Classmates 
from  far  and  near  were  soon  at  hand.  From 
Chautauqua,  just  then  in  session,  many  friends 
came  to  pay  sad  tribute.  Letters  in  great 
number  and  scores  of  telegrams  brought  ex- 
pressions of  sympathy.  A profusion  of  flow- 
ers transformed  the  library,  where  the  coffin 
rested,  into  a fit  chamber  for  the  heroic  dead. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  all,  the  tragic  fact  remained 
that  human  sympathy,  struggle  as  it  may, 
can  find  no  voice.  The  conventions  and  sym- 
bolism of  condolence  are  the  pathetic  failures 
of  humanity.  One  could  not  fail  to  note  how- 
ever, a genuine  grief  in  those  who  now  visited 
hospitable  Oak  Place,  for  the  first  time  a house 
of  mourning. 

With  thoughtful  courtesy,  the  Grand  Army 
of  the  Republic  asked  the  privilege  of  bury- 
ing the  young  soldier  with  martial  honors. 
This  request  was  gratefully  granted  by  the 
family.  It  was  arranged  that  a memorial 
service  should  be  held  in  the  early  afternoon, 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


157 


and  that  afterward  there  should  be  a private 
service  at  Oak  Place. 

The  memorial  exercises  were  designed  to 
do  honor,  not  only  to  Theodore  Miller,  but  to 
three  other  Akron  soldiers  who  had  lost  their 
lives  in  army  service.  The  Methodist  Epis- 
copal Church  — the  family  church  of  the  Mil- 
lers— was  chosen  for  the  occasion.  The 
pulpit  and  altar  were  tastefully  adorned  with 
flowers.  The  national  colors  were  used  ef- 
fectively and  served  to  dispel  the  gloomy 
funereal  ideas  which  are  usually  associated 
with  such  a service.  In  spite  of  the  sadness 
which  all  felt,  there  was  also  a sense  of  tri- 
umph in  it  all,  a consciousness  that  it  was  a 
ceremony  full  of  meaning  for  the  larger  na- 
tional life.  As  the  choir 1 struck  the  key- 
note of  the  service:  “The  Good  Die  Not,” 
this  sense  of  triumph  grew  more  vivid  in 
the  great  company  of  relatives,  friends,  and 
townsfolk  who  filled  the  large  building.  The 
addresses 2 served  to  deepen  this  impression. 
Sympathy  for  those  who  felt  the  keenest 
pangs  of  bereavement  was  expressed,  but  stress 

1 A double  quartette  including : Mrs.  Henry  Perkins,  Mrs. 
S.  S.  Haynes,  Mrs.  D.  L.  Marvin,  Mrs.  Frank  Seiberling,  Mr. 
Selden  Marvin.  Mr.  Charles  Burnham,  Mr.  Frank  Marvin, 
Mr.  George  Jackson. 

2 Judge  N.  D.  Tibbals  spoke  in  behalf  of  the  Grand  Army, 
and  Bishop  John  IJ.  Vincent  delivered  an  address  on  Theo- 
dore Miller. 


158  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

was  laid  upon  the  glory  of  the  soldier’s  death 
and  its  value  to  the  nation’s  tradition  of  cour- 
age, loyalty,  and  self-sacrifice.  The  service  at 
Oak  Place  was  brief  and  simple.  At  its  close, 
Theodore’s  body  was  borne  from  the  house  by 
a group  of  his  Yale  classmates.1  The  proces- 


Entrance  to  Glendale 


sion  to  Glendale  was  headed  by  the  members 
of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  who  led 

1 The  pallbearers  were:  Charles  R.  Hemenway,  Man- 
chester, Vt.;  James  I.  Liniaweaver,  Philadelphia;  Edward  S. 
Harkness,  New  York;  James  R.  Judd,  Honolulu;  William  Dar- 
rach,  Germantown,  Pa.;  and  Stephen  H.  Kohler,  Akron,  O. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


T59 


the  way  past  the  scenes  of  Theodore’s  boy- 
hood, up  the  valley  in  which  he  had  so  often 
played,  to  the  portals  of  the  beautiful  inclos- 
ure. Thence  the  cortege  wound  its  way  up 
to  where  the  sister  Eva  had  been  buried 
years  before.  A crowd  of  people  had  already 
gathered  near  the  family  lot,  where,  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  graceful  figure  on  the 
monument,  the  open  grave  was  ready.  It 
was  not  hideous  with  bare  earth,  but  lined 
and  bowered  with  green  things  and  bright 
flowers  — a quiet  resting  place  for  the  hero 
who  was  to  live  on,  not  a grave  to  swallow  up 
his  memory. 

Again  a simple  service  — the  martial  liturgy 
of  the  veterans  with  its  naive  imagery  of 
battle  and  victory,  a hymn,  <(  Nearer  my  God 
to  Thee  ” ; then  the  lowering  of  the  coffin  and 
the  last  look.  They  who  saw  cannot  soon  for- 
get the  scene : The  figure  of  the  strong 
father  supporting  the  frail,  but  brave  little 
woman  who  was  saying  farewell  to  one  of  her 
cherished  <(  little  boys  8 ; the  group  of  broth- 
ers and  sisters  dumb  with  grief;  the  pale 
face  of  Jane  looking  from  a carriage  window. 
She  had  been  ill  for  a year  or  more,  and  this 
blow  was  to  hasten  the  end  which  came  within 
a few  months.  Yet  even  Theodore’s  family 
must  have  been  vaguely  comforted  by  the 
thought  that  his  life  had  been  in  a sense 


160  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 

complete.  He  had  held  up  a type  of  man- 
hood which  by  his  very  death  would  bless 
and  inspire  his  fellow-men. 

This  the  final  chapter  cannot,  perhaps,  find 
a more  fitting  conclusion  than  in  one  of  the 
addresses  1 delivered  at  the  memorial  service. 
It  sums  up  Theodore’s  career  and  interprets 
its  meaning: — - 

<(A11  good  is  gained  at  somebody’s  cost.  In  that 
great  aggregation  of  individuals  which  we  call  Society, 
the  interest,  real  or  apparent,  of  the  social  unit,  must 
often  be  sacrificed  for  the  good  of  the  whole. 

(<When  the  nation  is  in  danger,  or  when  some  high 
call  of  humanity  appeals  to  it,  the  individual  must 
answer  the  summons.  In  army  or  navy  he  must  go 
forth  to  face  death,  if  need  be,  for  the  sake  of  the  na- 
tion. 

« Going  forth  in  obedience  to  such  a call,  he  repre- 
sents the  whole  people.  His  relations  and  his  value  are 
at  once  changed.  He  was  before  that  simply  a constit- 
uent unit.  He  is  more  now  — vastly  more.  Individu- 
ality is  lost  in  the  larger  relationship.  He  stands  now 
for  great  ideas,  great  principles,  and  wraps  up  in  his 
personality  the  great  multitude  we  call  the  State.  He 
was  a unit.  He  is  now  the  Nation. 

«A  soldier  is  more  than  an  individual,  more  than  a 
man!  You  cannot  think  of  him  or  estimate  him  as 
one  citizen,  as  son,  brother,  father.  When  you  look  into 
his  closed  eyes  you  see  constitutions,  history,  laws, 
rights,  prerogatives,  powers.  When  you  touch  his  cold 
body  you  touch  a sacred  thing,  and  you  hear  drumbeat 
and  bugle  call  and  the  thunder  of  armies! 


i That  of  Bishop  Vincent. 


Theodore  Westzvood  Miller 


161 


« It  is  a great  thing  to  be  a dead  soldier ! He  may 
have  died  by  accident,  by  disease,  by  starvation,  or  by 
the  bullet  of  the  nation’s  foe;  but  his  death  sends  a 
thrill  through  the  nation. 

« Society  is  more  than  an  aggregation  of  individuals. 
It  is  an  organism  with  a unity  of  life.  A soldier  is  a 
personality  in  whom  the  nerves  of  the  body  concen- 
trate. 

<(It  was  not  merely  a man  that  was  killed.  The 
shot  was  a shot  at  the  nation’s  heart,  and  the  soldier 
received  it  and  saved  the  nation.  But  the  nation’s 
heart  throbs  at  the  stroke,  and  the  strength  and  cour- 
age of  the  smitten  soldier  goes  into  the  nation’s  life, 
and  the  nation  is  greater  and  mightier  because  of  the 
brave  soldier’s  death. 

« < No  man  liveth  unto  himself,  and  no  man  dieth  unto 
himself. } Pre-eminently  is  this  law  of  inter-relation 
and  inter-dependence  true  in  the  life  of  a great  people. 
Therefore  to  the  soldier’s  name,  to  his  memory,  to  his 
family,  and  to  the  centre  of  influence  which  he  person- 
ally controls,  comes  a current  of  power,  a reward  of 
appreciation,  honor,  gratitude,  and  renown  from  the 
country’s  heart.  It  is  a great  thing  to  be  a dead 
soldier ! 

<(The  event  which  brings  us  all  here  to-day  amidst 
this  reverent  silence,  the  hushed  awe  of  these  obsequies, 
is  an  illustration  of  the  fact  I have  stated.  The  Gov- 
ernment and  its  flag,  and  all  the  people  of  the  nation, 
are  involved  in  this  solemn  service.  A soldier  has 
fallen — for  the  sake  of  the  whole  people.  We  honor 
the  dead,  not  only  as  son,  as  brother,  as  friend,  as 
fellow-citizen,  as  neighbor,  but  as  a private  soldier  in 
the  Army  of  the  Republic. 

(<Read  the  graphic  report  of  the  surrender  of  Santi- 
ago and  the  hoisting  of  our  flag  over  the  city:  <As  the 
chimes  of  the  old  cathedral  rang  out  the  hour  of  twelve, 


ii 


162  Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


the  infantry  and  cavalry  presented  arms.  Every  Amer- 
ican uncovered,  and  Captain  McKittrick  hoisted  the 
Stars  and  Stripes.  As  the  brilliant  folds  unfurled  in  a 
gentle  breeze  against  a fleckless  sky,  the  cavalry  band 
played  the  Star-Spangled  Banner.  At  the  same  instant 
the  sound  of  the  distant  booming  of  Captain  Capron’s 
battery,  firing  a salute  of  twenty-one  guns,  drifted  in. 
When  the  salute  ceased,  from  all  directions  around  the 
line  came  floating  across  the  plaza  the  strains  of  the  reg- 
imental bands  and  the  muffled,  hoarse  cheers  of  the 
troops.  > 

<(  Read  this,  and,  as  you  read,  rejoice  at  the  victory 
won  by  our  arms  under  our  glorious  flag.  And  as  you 
rejoice,  remember  that  the  nation’s  triumph  is  because 
of  wise  leadership,  and  that  wise  leadership  won  its 
triumph  through  brave  boys  fighting  to  the  death  in 
the  trenches  and  thickets,  and  on  the  plains  about 
Santiago. 

<(  Thus  we  come  to  feel  the  significance  of  this  event. 
The  good  we  gain  is  gained  at  our  neighbor’s  cost. 
At  our  common  cost,  indeed,  for  every  such  bereave- 
ment to  some  extent  gives  sorrow  to  every  patriotic 
heart.  But  our  sympathetic  sorrow,  intense  as  it  can 
be  imagined,  is  nothing  compared  to  the  agonies  of 
father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  intimates  who  bury 
their  beloved  this  summer  day.  We  to  whom  the  cost 
of  war  is  slight  — a few  dollars  in  contribution  and  in 
internal  revenue  stamps,  and  the  solicitude  we  feel 
when  news  is  delayed,  and  the  stirring  up,  now  and 
then,  of  angry  passions  — these  are  often  all.  But  think 
of  the  burning  memories,  the  blighted  hopes,  the  bit- 
terness of  bereavement,  the  hunger  of  heart  for  one 
more  look,  one  more  word,  the  long,  long  years  of 
patient,  silent  sorrow  for  these  dear  ones  whose  bur- 
dens we  try,  so  ineffectively  at  our  best,  to  help  them 
bear ! 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


163 


« The  imposing  splendors  of  a military  campaign, 
blare  of  trumpets,  flaunt  of  banners,  storm  of  music, 
flash  of  steel,  thunder  of  artillery,  shouts  of  victory, 
and  the  echoes  of  all  these  when  the  good  news  comes 
home  through  cable  and  wire,  and  the  daily  papers  tell 
the  story  to  a triumphant  and  enthusiastic  people  — 
all  these  find  marked  contrast  in  the  silent  solemnities 
of  a service  like  this,  where  our  tread  is  soft,  our  voices 
low,  our  music  muffled,  lest  we  disturb  the  dead  or 
distress  the  living  whose  dead  we  bury.  Thus  are  the 
nation's  triumph,  honor,  and  joy  won  at  the  expense  of 
bruised  and  broken  hearts. 

(<  War  ? ( War  is  hell,*  said  General  Sherman.  War 
is  awful  work.  It  makes  havoc  with  human  affec- 
tions; it  brings  pain  at  separation,  and  unutterable 
grief  at  death.  But  again,  war  disciplines  character; 
it  saves  nations ; it  exalts  into  prominence  civilizations 
that  represent  the  highest  type  of  humanity  and  phi- 
lanthropy; it  depresses  and  paralyzes  nations  that  in 
this  age  stand  for  a lower  type  of  administration  and 
social  life.  War  gives  heroism  opportunity.  It  kindles 
the  spirit  of  s}-mpathy. 

<(The  war,  across  the  black  clouds  of  which  the 
bow  of  peace  now  springs,  has  united  the  nation, 
north,  south,  east,  and  west,  in  bonds  stronger  than 
any  that  have  yet  been  woven  or  forged.  It  has 
given  to  the  nations  of  the  Old  World  a larger  knowl- 
edge of  our  power,  progress,  and  distinctive  civiliza- 
tion. It  has  established  our  right  to  a voice  in  the 
affairs  of  the  planet.  It  has  increased  the  confidence 
of  our  people  in  our  system  of  government.  It  has 
emphasized  the  radical  defect  of  a civilization  in  which 
caste  and  priestcraft  are  dominant.  It  has  brought 
the  classes  of  society  together  and  aimed  a blow  at 
anarchism  and  socialism.  It  has  taught  the  youth  of 
to-day,  the  men  and  women  of  to-morrow,  larger 


164 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


respect  for  national  ideas.  It  has  given  notable  lessons 
in  religious  fidelity,  reverence  the  acknowledgment 
of  God,  the  value  of  sobriety.  It  has  elevated  into 
prominence  young  men,  as  distinguished  for  their  hu- 
mility and  religious  faith  as  for  their  heroism  and 
skill.  It  has  brought  out  of  the  blackness  of  despot- 
ism millions  of  people  who  have  for  centuries  been 
under  the  galling  yoke  of  bondage.  It  has  opened 
the  way  for  a pure  Christianity  into  regions  that  do 
not  know  the  alphabet  of  Christianity. 

“The  war  has  done  good  — but  the  cost!  Oh,  the 
cost  of  it,  in  human  life!  The  dear  boy  we  bury  to- 
day is  a part  of  the  loss.  But  it  is  something  to  have 
been  able  to  contribute  to  a consummation  which  ar- 
rests the  attention  and  excites  the  plaudits  of  the 
whole  world  and  that  guarantees  freedom  to  millions 
of  the  race. 

“The  story  of  to-day  is  soon  told.  It  is  the  story 
of  a dead  boy,  an  Akron  boy, — dutiful  son,  affection- 
ate brother,  loyal  friend.  It  is  the  story  of  an  Amer- 
ican boy,  the  blood  of  an  honest  and  sturdy  ancestry 
in  his  veins;  the  product  of  our  civilization  at  its 
best;  a product  of  the  American  home,  the  American 
public  school,  the  American  college;  a Christian  in  in- 
heritance, training,  profession,  and  character  — reverent, 
honorable,  a gentleman,  a manly  boy  and  mother’s 
boy  — his  heart  throbbing  to  the  last  with  tender  love 
for  his  mother, — his  'darling  mother, > as  he  called  her, 
— and  for  all  the  dear  ones  in  the  old  homestead. 

“When  the  war  came,  Theodore  resolved  to  enter 
the  army.  He  found  a place  among  'The  Rough 
Riders. > He  was  in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  a gradu- 
ate of  Yale  in  the  class  of  ’97,  full  of  laudable  ambi- 
tion, genial,  popular  with  his  class  and  college  mates, 
respected  by  his  professors,  the  light  of  a large  hope 
shining  on  his  future  career.  In  camp  he  was  well 


Theodore  Westzvood  Miller  165 

known,  an  indefatigable  worker,  patient  and  uncom- 
plaining under  privations,  cheerful  and  giving  cheer  to 
his  comrades,  with  hints  and  help  wherever  he  had 
opportunity. 

<(  Theodore’s  journal  is  full  of  interesting  details  of 
camp  life  and  march,  ocean  voyage,  perilous  landing, 
courageous  assault,  boldness,  daring,  and  the  delight  of 
the  soldier’s  life.  It  is  graphic,  vivid,  full  of  humor 
and  patriotism,  and  radiant  with  hopefulness.  It  is,  in 
good  clear  English,  the  story  of  American  bravery 
amidst  the  discomforts  of  camp,  hospital,  and  battle- 
field. At  the  end  of  his  twenty-fourth  day  after  en- 
listment, he  says:  ( My  experience  thus  far  has  paid 
me  for  any  sacrifice  I have  made,  and  I would  not 
have  missed  it  for  anything.’ 

<(  He  fought  his  first  battle  on  the  twenty-fourth  of 
June.  The  description  of  it  is  in  his  journal  and  is 
most  interesting.  A postal  on  the  twenty-fifth  to  his 
mother  says:  < First  battle  yesterday  and  had  a very 
fortunate  escape.  I was  not  wounded  at  all.  Was  in 
left  flank.  Am  well.  It  is  a,  good  cause  and  the 
Cubans  are  worthy.  God  leads  us.  Lovingly,  Theo- 
dore.’ 

« Friday,  July  1,  was  his  last  record.  That  day  he 
entered  again  into  the  conflict.  Suddenly  he  received 
a wound,  severe,  fatal.  A week  of  waiting  in  the 
hospital.  If  it  was  a week  of  pain,  it  was  a week  of 
unfailing  patience,  of  hope,  of  desire  for  life,  of  submis- 
sion to  the  God  of  his  mother,  of  holy  silence.  Then 
came  sleep  profound,  protracted.  And  when  he  awoke 
it  was  on  the  shore  beyond  the  River  of  Death. 

<(  Everybody  came  to  know  Theodore.  He  seems  to 
have  elicited  general  sympathy.  He  was  brave,  wise, 
and  patient.  (That  is  my  boy,’  said  Sister  Bettina, 
a nurse  of  the  Red  Cross,  as  she  picked  him  out  as 
her  special  ward.  And  there  he  lay  that  long  week 


i66 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


between  July  i and  July  8,  when  he  slept  the  sleep  of 
the  glorified.  I love  to  think  of  the  tender  care  he  re- 
ceived from  his  loving  nurse  who  at  the  last  washed 
him  and  wrapped  him  in  a clean  snow-white  sheet  for 
his  burial.  I love  to  think  of  the  world  of  memories 
he  had  to  draw  from  during  the  days  and  the  nights 
of  his  patient  waiting' — pictures  of  a home  unexcelled 
in  all  the  land  for  mutual  affection ; of  a mother  that 
loved  him  and  all  her  children  more  than  she  loved 
her  own  life;  of  a father  who  idolized  his  boy  and 
kept  a heart  warm  and  tender  for  the  whole  circle 
about  a fireside  where  love  had  glowed  for  long,  long 
years;  of  brothers  and  sisters  whose  memory  was  a 
joy  to  him  and  to  whom  he  said  in  his  letter  of  June 
23:  ' My  dear  family:  I want  to  send  my  love,  and  I 
mean  love  to  all  of  }'ou  separately  and  collectively, 
and  I hope  you  will  accept  it  in  that  way.5 

« I am  glad  to  believe  that  during  that  week  of  si- 
lence, there  came  to  him  memories  of  the  holy  truth 
which  he  had  learned  and  in  which  he  had  been  con- 
firmed in  childhood,  with  which  he  was  perfectly  famil- 
iar, and  to  which  he  certainly  turned  during  the  days 
and  nights  of  waiting.  I can  hear  his  heart  throb 
with  restful  joy  at  the  memory  of  the  old  words  — so 
full  of  meaning  to  him  now — 'The  Lord  is  my  shep- 
herd, I shall  not  want.  He  leadeth  me  beside  the  still 
waters.  Though  I walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death,  I will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  med 
Or  the  words  of  comfort  and  strength  that  were  house- 
hold words  to  him,  'Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me,  I will 
hide  myself  in  Thee^  and  'Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul,  let 
me  to  Thy  bosom  flyd 

« I am  glad  to  know  that  during  these  days  he  had 
hope  of  recovery  and  of  a home-coming.  And  then  he 
fell  asleep  and  woke  in  the  land  where  home  and 
earth  and  love  and  blessedness  have  new  significance; 


Theodore  Westzvood  Miller 


167 


in  the  land  where  death  never  comes,  where  life  is 
life,  and  where  hope  is  consummation  and  realization. 

<(  So  that,  in  reality,  Theodore  Miller  is  not  dead. 
We  who  shall  stand  by  his  grave  to-day  believe  in  a 
life  of  the  spirit  that  never  ends.  In  the  high  inter- 
pretation of  the  Christian  faith,  there  is  no  death. 
Life  ended  is  life  begun.  Vision  obscured  is  vision 
renewed. 

« Theodore  Miller  is  not  dead ! He  will  live  in  mar- 
bles that  commemorate  him,  in  memories  that  embalm 
him,  in  affections  that  enshrine  him.  He  will  live  in 
the  archives  of  his  nation,  in  the  deeper  red,  the  fairer 
white,  the  richer  blue,  and  the  more  radiant  stars  that 
make  his  country’s  flag.  Theodore  is  not  dead ! Some- 
where else  he  lives,  knows,  loves,  hopes,  grows,  and 
looks  forward  -with  confidence  to  a meeting  and  a 
greeting  of  friends  beloved.  Does  the  tree  die  when 
autumn  winds  strip  it  of  verdure?  Does  the  sun  die 
when  the  night  drinks  up  its  radiance  ? 

<(  Theodore  is  a sweet  and  significant  name.  It 
means  a <gift  of  God.>  I remember  when  he  came. 
And  now  he  passes  away.  The  gift  God  gave  to  his 
father  and  mother  they  give  back  to  God,  to  whom, 
indeed,  they  long  ago  gave  him.  And  this  summer 
day,  after  this  storm  and  a fury  of  battle,  his  body 
finds  peace;  for  a short  time  this  afternoon  it  finds  a 
place  in  the  dear  old  library  where  he  spent  so  many 
happy  days  of  babyhood,  boyhood,  and  young  manhood, 
and  then  before  the  sunset  to-day  and  for  all  the  days 
of  the  long  years,  it  will  sleep  under  the  shadows  of 
the  pleasant  trees  in  Glendale.  There,  with  Eva,  first 
born  of  the  dear  household,  will  Theodore,  last  born 
rest  as  the  years  go  by. 

(<  Sleep,  Theodore ! The  thunder  of  battle  shall  no 
more  disturb  thee.  Sleep  under  the  green  sod  of  the 
summer  and  the  stainless  snow  of  the  winter  — thy 


i68 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


dead  face  turned  upward  toward  the  overarching  heav- 
ens, thy  brave  heart  and  strong  arm  forever  silent ! 

« But,  Theodore,  son,  brother,  friend,  soldier,  Chris- 
tian, after  all  thou  art  no  longer  in  the  grave.  I hear 
thy  words  of  faith,  (God  leads  us.>  He  leads  the  nation 
to  honor,  victory,  and  power.  He  leads  loyal  souls  to 
reward.  Thou  art  with  Him,  and  we  will  be  by  Him 
led  to  thee.  Thy  soul  is  marching  on.  The  shadow 
shall  sleep  in  Glendale.  Thou  thyself  hast  begun  a 
career  of  life  and  growth  and  glory. 

« It  is  a great  thing  to  be  a dead  American  soldier, 
for  he  can  never  die ! » 


APPENDIX 


So  far  as  possible  the  letters  which  came  in  large 
numbers  to  Theodore’s  family  have  been  woven  into 
the  body  of  this  little  volume.  Scores  of  letters  full 
of  sympathy  and  appreciation  have  not  found  a place. 
It  would  be  a pleasure  to  the  family  to  have  these 
printed,  but  for  obvious  reasons  the  purpose  and  scope 
of  the  book  forbid. 

There  are,  however,  a few  letters,  resolutions,  and 
other  detached  materials  which  it  seems  important  to 
include  in  an  appendix.  These  are  added  without  at- 
tempt at  organization  or  comment. 


A ROUGH  RIDER 

THEODORE  W.  MILLER 
Wounded,  Santiago,  July  i ; Died,  Siboney,  July  8 


Once  for  a day  beside  the  northern  sea 

Our  paths  were  blent  together  on  Fate’s  chart, 
And  then  the  thin  lines,  set  divergently, 

For  all  time  led  apart. 

But  ’tis  his  name,  ’mid  all  the  new  war’s  slain, 

That  brings  me  near  to  battle’s  awe  and  dread. — • 
That  keys  the  heart  within  me  to  the  pain 
With  which  man  mourns  the  dead. 


iyo 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


His  were  the  virtues  that  our  grandsires  knew, 

The  steadfast  faith,  the  sturdy  loyalty, 

And  the  clean  soul  that,  like  a compass  true, 

Holds  straight  in  any  sea. 

’Twas  like  him  that  he  went  unheralded! 

’Twas  like  his  generous  heart  to  give  his  all; 
'Twas  like  him,  too,  following  where  valor  led, 
Among  the  first  to  fall. 

’Twas  like  him!  And  the  phrase  I write  again; 

’Twas  like  the  simple  courage  of  his  soul 
To  strive  amid  the  boldest,  win,  and  then 
Lie  prone  across  the  goal. 

’Tis  of  such  brain  and  brawn  that  God  has  made 
A nation,  setting  wide  its  boundary  bars, 

And  to  its  banner  giving  the  high  aid 
And  courage  of  the  stars. 

And  if  in  these  late  days  man  still  may  cling, 

To  what  is  high  and  noble  in  all  time. 

Then  I,  remembering,  to  his  bier  may  bring 
My  slender  wreath  of  rhyme. 

Meredith  Nicholson. 

— In  the  Ishmaelite , August , i8q8. 


FROM  COLONEL  ROOSEVELT 

In  Camp,  Montauk  Point,  N.  Y.  | 
August  17,  1898.  S 

J.  Asa  Palmer,  Esq.,  Care  of  Aultman,  Miller  & Co., 
Akron,  Ohio. 

My  dear  Sir:  — I am  looking  forward  to  the  receipt 
of  that  diary.  Indeed  I did  know  young  Miller,  and 


Theodore  Westward  Miller  iji 

valued  him  most  highly.  When  he  was  wounded  I had 
no  idea  it  would  prove  fatal,  and  was  deeply  grieved  and 
shocked  at  his  death.  I only  wish  it  were  possible  for 
me  to  leave  this  regiment  and  come  out  to  the  fu- 
neral; but  it  is  out  of  the  question. 

Pray  tell  the  members  of  his  family  for  me,  how 
sincere  my  sympathy  with  them  is  and  how  much  I 
appreciate  the  quiet  heroism  of  Theodore  Miller, — one 
of  the  best  men  in  a regiment  full  of  good  men. 

Faithfully  yours, 

Theodore  Roosevelt. 


FROM  FREDERIC  REMINGTON 

My  Dear  Mr.  Miller:  — 

I remember  him  only  as  a strong,  bright- 
eyed type  of  the  American  schoolboy,  an  athlete,  etc. 
I exposed  the  awfulness  of  the  consecration  of  a two- 
years’  enlistment  to  them  in  even  more  than  its  nat- 
ural terrors,  as  fully  as  I could  imagine  them ; but  it 
was  old  talk  to  young  men  — they  were  determined 
to  enlist  and  expected  to  be  killed.  I said  Wood  and 
Roosevelt  were  bad  men  and  would  certainly  get  them 
all  killed  — it  all  went  for  nothing — so  they  enlisted 
and  your  son  died  as  a soldier  for  the  Republic;  and 
in  my  narrow  mew  of  such  things  he  is  (<  consecrated.” 
There  is  nothing  greater.  Meanwhile,  I feel  for  you 
in  your  sacrifice. 

Yours  faithfully, 

Frederic  Remington. 


I72 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


FROM  THE  WOLF’S  HEAD  SOCIETY 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Miller:  — 

We,  who  were  privileged  to  be  Theodore’s  most  in- 
timate associates  the  last  year  in  college,  want  to 
express  to  you  our  deepest  sympathy  in  your  terrible 
sorrow.  He  was  the  truest  and  most  unselfish  of 
friends,  and  the  example  of  his  splendid  life  was  a 
constant  source  of  good  to  all  who  sought  his  ac- 
quaintance. We  who  knew  him  so  well,  can,  perhaps, 
appreciate  our  loss  the  deeper.  And,  keen  as  our 
grief  is,  it  seems  but  a further  unfolding  of  his  char- 
acter that  he  died  as  he  lived,  fighting  for  the  right. 
Most  respectfully,  the  members  of  W.  H.  S.,  ’97. 

James  Israel  IJineaweaver, 
Charles  Reed  Hemenway, 
William  Darrach, 

Charles  B.  DeCamp, 
Thatcher  M.  Brown, 

Walter  L.  Goodwin, 

W.  J.  Lapham, 

Ebenezer  Hill,  Jr., 

James  R.  Judd, 

Edward  S.  Harkness, 
Franklin  M.  Crosby, 

Arthur  W.  Bell, 

G.  W.  Updike. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller  iyj 


FROM  A GROUP  OF  CLASSMATES 
Dear  Mr.  Miller:  — 

A few  members  of  the  class  of  ’97,  who  are  in  New 
Haven  this  fall,  about  fourteen  in  number,  met  in- 
formally last  evening  to  take  fitting  action  in  memory 
of  the  death  of  your  son. 

We  were  desired  to  express  to  you  and  your  fam- 
ily, in  some  appropriate  form,  the  sympathy  of  every 
man  present.  His  death  is  so  keenly  felt  by  us  that 
an  expression  of  this  sympathy  in  formal  resolutions 
would,  we  feel,  be  entirely  inadequate. 

He  was  a stanch  friend  and  delightful  companion, 
and  the  memory  of  his  noble  life  here  at  Yale,  and 
the  way  be  bravely  laid  it  down  in  Cuba,  will  ever  be 
to  us,  his  friends  and  classmates,  a source  of  inspira- 
tion. 

There  was  no  larger-hearted  man  in  the  class  than 
“T,11  and  as  we  close  again  our  broken  ranks,  it  is 
with  the  knowledge  that  there  is  one  place  that  can 
never  be  filled  again. 

Realizing  that  we  can  express  but  little  of  what  we 
feel,  but  trusting  that  you  will  understand  how  deeply 
we  sympathize  with  you, 

We  remain  sincerely, 

Albert  F.  Judd,  Jr., 
Cornelius  P.  Kitchel, 
Harry  H.  Townshend. 


New  Haven,  Oct.  8,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


I7+ 


FROM  THE  CHAUTAUQUA  BOARD 

Whereas,  Our  President  Lewis  Miller  and  his  fam- 
ily have  been  sorely  bereaved  in  the  loss  of  a be- 
loved son  and  brother, 

We  do  hereby  express  our  sincere  sympathy  in  this 
affliction;  and  while  the  fact  that  Theodore  Miller  died 
in  the  defense  of  his  country  can  afford  but  slight 
consolation  to  his  family  in  the  freshness  of  their  sor- 
row, it  is  a matter  of  congratulation  and  rejoicing  that 
his  young  life,  after  a childhood  of  innocence,  a most 
honorable  college  career,  and  a record  of  unsullied 
manhood,  was  courageously  offered  on  the  altar  of  his 
nation’s  honor,  and  that  through  all  the  years  to  come 
the  record  will  endure  to  give  lustre  to  his  family 
name  and  add  glory  to  our  national  tradition. 

We  request  that  this  resolution  be  placed  on  our 
minutes  and  that  a copy  be  presented  to  the  family, 
as  our  feeble  but  earnest  tribute  to  the  dead  soldier 
boy,  and  our  testimony  to  our  sympathy  with  his  be- 
reaved parents. 

Edward  A.  Skinner, 
Frank  Higgins, 

John  H.  Vincent. 

Chautauqua,  N.  Y.,  Aug.  2d,  1898. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


175 


FROM  AN  INTIMATE  FRIEND 

The  impression  which  I had  when  I first  met  Theo- 
dore in  our  Freshman  year  has  always  remained  with 
me,  only  growing  and  intensifying  as  the  days  passed 
and  we  came  to  know  each  other  better.  It  was  that 
of  a man  who  entered  thoroughly  into  the  present,  liv- 
ing in  it  and  enjoying  it  with  greater  zest  than  any  other 
I have  ever  met.  He  never  failed  to  make  use  of  every 
opportunity  that  presented  itself,  and  brought  to  every 
changing  scene  the  same  enthusiasm  and  earnestness. 
When  combined  with  steadfast  adherence  to  the  highest 
principles,  these  qualities  always  carry  with  them  the 
love  and  respect  of  all  with  whom  one  comes  in  contact, 
and  these  Theodore  certainly  enjoyed  as  few  men  have. 
To  anything  he  felt  was  right  he  devoted  himself,  and 
followed  wherever  it  led.  Because  of  this  confidence 
and  trust  in  himself,  he  always  was  forced  into  the  place 
of  a leader  among  us  all.  For  he  never  sought  to  gain 
anything  for  himself.  His  final  sacrifice  was  only  the 
culmination  of  a life  of  self-sacrifice  and  of  aid  and  com- 
fort to  and  sympathy  with  others. 

— From  a letter  to  Mr.  Miller  from  Charles  Hemenway. 


ij6 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


THE  MEMORIAL  GATEWAY  AT  YALE 


Soon  after  Theodore’s  death  it  was  suggested  in 
several  quarters  that  some  memorial  should  be  pro- 
vided by  his  Yale  classmates.  One  plan  was  to  found 
a scholarship,  but  this  was  abandoned  when  the  idea 

of  erecting  a gateway  on 
the  Yale  campus  was  pro- 
posed by  Henry  S.  Coffin. 
The  latter  suggestion  ap- 
pealed more  vividly  to  the 
imaginations  of  his  college 
friends,  and  seemed  more 
appropriate  for  a soldier’s 
monument. 

A committee  of  the  class 
was  appointed,  and,  after 
careful  consideration,  the 
following  circular  letter 
was  sent  out  to  the  mem- 
bers of  the  class: — 

New  York,  1 
January,  1899.  ( 

As  you  have  probably 
heard,  Theodore  Westwood 
Miller,  of  our  class,  joined 
the  Rough  Riders  early  in 
June,  went  with  them  to  Santiago,  and  was  engaged  in 
the  first  part  of  the  campaign  there.  He  fell,  shot 
through  the  lungs,  in  the  charge  on  San  Juan  Hill  on 
July  1st,  and  died  just  a week  later  in  the  hospital  at 
Siboney. 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


177 


At  a meeting  of  ninety-seven  men  held  at  the  Yale 
Club  early  in  October,  and  also  at  one  held  simultane- 
ously in  New  Haven,  to  consider  action  looking  toward 
the  placing  of  some  memorial  on  the  campus,  this  com- 
mittee was  appointed,  and,  after  carefully  considering  all 
forms  a memorial  of  this  character  might  take,  it  was 
decided  to  erect  a gateway  between  the  Chapel  and  Dur- 
fee  Hall.  The  decision  of  the  committee  was  ratified 
by  a later  meeting  of  the  class,  and  the  consent  of  the 
corporation  secured.  For 
this  purpose  one  thousand 
dollars  will  be  required, 
and  it  is  greatly  desired 
that  every  man  give  what 
he  can,  so  that  the  tribute 
may  be,  so  far  as  possible, 
one  from  the  entire  class. 

We  earnestly  request 
you  to  give  this  matter 
your  attention  and  to  add 
whatever  you  feel  able  to 
the  memorial  fund,  trust- 
ing that  you  will  be  in  full 
sympathy  with  the  purpose 
of  the  committee  to  make 
the  memorial,  as  nearly 
as  possible,  worthy  of  the 
man  for  whom  it  is  erected, 
and  whom  we  all  knew 
and  respected  during  our 
four  years  together. 

As  it  is  necessary  for  your  committee  to  know  within 
a limited  time  how  large  an  amount  we  can  command, 
we  request  you  to  respond  to  this  letter  as  early  as 
possible,  even  in  case  your  present  circumstances  may 
prevent  your  contributing. 


/7c? 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


Please  make  checks  payable  and  send  to  Thatcher  M. 

Brown,  treasurer,  59  Wall  Street,  New  York  city. 

Yours  truly, 

Edward  S.  Harkness, 
Robert  S.  Brewster, 
Thatcher  M.  Brown, 
Harry  L.  de  Forest, 
Francis  P.  Garvan, 
Charles  R.  Hemenway, 
Knox  Maddox, 

Charles  H.  Studinski. 

Committee. 


The  response  to  this  appeal  was  unexpectedly  prompt 
and  generous.  The  work  was  taken  in  hand  without 
delay.  Mr.  Charles  C.  Haight,  of  New  York,  was 
chosen  as  architect,  and  under  his  supervision  a gate- 
way, strong  and  simple,  harmonizing  admirably  with 
the  two  buildings  — Battell  Chapel  and  Durfee  Hall  — 
which  it  joins,  has  been  erected.  This  gateway  forms 
the  principal  means  of  approach  to  the  campus  from 
the  Elm  Street  side,  and  spans  one  of  the  most  fre- 
quented of  the  routes  of  student  wayfaring. 

The  gateway  has  two  panels.  That  facing  Elm 
Street  bears  the  inscription  found  on  opposite  page. 

The  other  panel,  turned  toward  the  campus,  bears 
a decorative  symbolic  design,  consisting  of  a pair  of 
crossed  sabres  superimposed  upon  wings  of  victory. 
Above  the  carving  are  the  words  (<Ist  U S Vol  Cav,” 
and  below,  the  line  <(  Las  Guasimas  San  Juan  Santi- 
ago.” On  either  side  the  letters  “RR®  are  intertwined. 

It  is  hard  to  imagine  a monument  more  thoroughly 
satisfying  to  Theodore’s  friends.  It  stands  in  the 


Theodore  Westwood  Miller 


M 9 


midst  of  the  Yale  life  which  he  loved,  as  a symbol  of 
manly  virtues  by  which  that  life  must  be  preserved. 


IN  MEMORY  OF 

THEODORE  WESTWOOD  MILDER 
CLASS  OF  1897 

WHO  FELL  MORTALLY  WOUNDED 
IN  THE  CHARGE 

ON  SAN  JUAN  HILL  AT  SANTIAGO  DE  CUBA 
1st  JULY  1898 

BORN  30th  JAN.  1875  DIED  8th  JULY’  1898 


